Angels and Phantoms
by Tripsy the Dovahkiin
Summary: Ever since Prince Erik lost the love of his life, he has become cruel and distant. When he discovers that the young Christine Daae has almost the exact same appearance, it seems that he has found the love of his life once more. But he will have to compete with his cruel nature and the handsome Raoul de Chagny if he wants to win her hand.
1. Prologue

So, I know for me, the first thing that comes to mind when I hear about a Phantom/Beauty crossover story is...cliche. And, yeah, it kinda can be. I mean, Phantom in itself is kind of a Beauty and the Beast story. But, I've been curious and wanted to try it. So, while I'm dealing with the writers block on my other stories, I thought, why not try it out? Be warned, there are looooong chapters ahead, and while I do try to edit my work, I'm not always successful. That being said, if any of you happen to catch any glaring grammatical or spelling mistakes, feel free to let me know!

So, without further ado, I present to you my NaNoWriMo entry, Angels and Phantoms: A Phantom of the Opera/Beauty and the Beast Story.

( **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Phantom of the Opera or Beauty and the Beast.) ~Shella

* * *

 **Angels** **and** **Phantoms  
** **A Phantom of the Opera** **/Beauty in the Beast Story**

 **Prologue**

Once, in a time that has been long since forgotten, there lived a handsome prince. He was adored by all of his subjects as he was a kind and just ruler, and there were many women in his land that sought to one day be his queen. In the eyes of his people, he was perfect and could do absolutely no wrong. He loved all, and was loved by all. His parents, the king and queen, saw greatness in him, and wished only to raise him to be the kindest, gentlest king he could possibly be.

For many years, the prince grew in happiness. He was seen frequently among his people, aiding those that needed it and doing whatever he could to improve the lives of his subjects. Rarely a day went by when he wasn't seen in the town, wearing a large smile and showing friendliness to any and all that crossed his path. If there was anything he loved doing, it was being among his loyal, loving subjects. And if there was anything he loved more than that, it was music.

When he wasn't assisting those that needed him, the prince was seen at the opera houses, favoring the one closest to his castle called the Opera Populaire. He so frequently visited this opera house, he had the box right above the stage – the best seat in the house – permanently reserved for him. His parents had instilled in him a love of music at an early age: teaching him to play piano, hiring a voice tutor, and teaching him to compose his own works. Whenever the prince was home in the palace, music could be heard spilling through the open windows in his private music room.

As the young prince grew older, he became kinder. It seemed age would not change the way he treated his subjects. But, one night, something happened that changed the prince in a way that age could not.

His parents were hosting a masquerade ball in honor of the prince's twenty-fourth birthday. All of the subjects were invited to attend (especially the single women, as the king and queen were hoping the prince would find an eligible wife at this party). As the party went on well into the night, the king and queen had it moved to the west wing, a large portion of the castle that was occupied by dancing floors, kitchens, dining halls, parlors, and a large library. It was at this point in the night the prince found the woman of his dreams.

He had been dancing with many of the girls of the kingdom, but none of them seemed to touch his heart in the way he was looking for. That was until one young woman of twenty-one approached him, asking for a dance. This was the most beautiful woman the prince had ever laid eyes on. She had doe-brown eyes and chocolate curls that bounced to her shoulders. From the moment he first held her in his arms, the prince knew that this was the woman he would marry. He had found his future queen.

But it was not meant to be.

As the sky darkened, more torches and candles were lit, letting light flood the west wing so the party would not have to stop early. The prince and his new bride-to-be had danced the night away before disappearing into one of the parlors. Here the stayed and talked, enjoying each other's company. They had been alone for only a few minutes when a loud cry echoed through the halls of the west wing: "FIRE! A FIRE IN THE BALLROOM!"

The prince, wanting to help as many subjects as possible, took the soft hand of his new love in his and led her quickly out of the parlor. Together, the pair raced into the main ballroom where the guests were fleeing. Looking around, it wasn't hard for the two to discover the cause of the fire now licking at the walls of the palace; some careless person, either a guest of servant, had knocked over a table of candles. Now, flames were lapping at everything, enveloping the room.

Seeing that there was no way the prince could help his fleeing subjects, he gripped his future queen's hand and pulled her from the room, leading her to a servant's stairwell. He was hoping that this stone area would protect them from the flames. The pair never made it.

Several others had the same idea; head for the stone stairwell. They surged towards the servant's stairs, pulling the prince and his bride-to-be from each other's grasp. The young woman was pulled along with the crowd, calling out for him. Frantic, the prince tried to reach her when someone behind him rammed into him. He fell, face-first into the flames. The right side of the prince's face hit first, and he screamed in agony as the fire licked at it.

Rolling away from the flames, the prince clasped the right side of his face, unable to do more than roll on the floor, writhing in pain. For how long he was there, he never was sure, but, eventually, a servant came to his side, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to his feet. This servant led him from the ballroom and out of the west wing. This servant had saved the prince's life.

The next thing the prince remembered, he was waking up in a hospital bed, the right side of his face covered in bandages. Doctors and nurses rushed around him tending to various patients, but he was finally able to get the attention of one of them. The first thing he asked what had happened to the palace and the guests. The doctor told him that only the west wing of the castle had been consumed, the rest of it saved by quick-thinking subjects. Here, the doctor hesitated not sure what to say. Swallowing, he said, "I am sorry, my prince, but neither of your parents survived the fire."

It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of the prince. His parents? Dead? It was impossible! His heart in his throat, he heard himself ask, "What about…that girl? The…the young brunette I disappeared with?"

Once more, the doctor hesitated. And in that hesitation, the prince knew what had become of his beautiful love, his future queen. "I am so very sorry, my prince," the doctor finally spoke in barely a whisper. "But she did not survive. None of the guests in the servant's stairwell survived. They thought the stone would protect them, but it only served as a furnace and burned them up faster."

The prince remembered no more of that day after that. He knew only his sorrow, his loss, his broken heart.

After that day, the prince disappeared. He returned to the palace where he lived alone with his servants, but never returned to visit the village. None of the townsfolk ever saw him in public again. The prince had simply…vanished. With him went his music. No one passing the palace heard the piano or his singing, there was only silence, and he no longer supported the opera houses or the arts. When the young brunette had perished, so had a part of the prince. The townspeople could only hope that, somehow, one day, the old prince could be reached and they would have their kind and gentle ruler returned.


	2. One

**One**

The sound of the cock crowing shocked young Christine Daaé out of her peaceful sleep. Glancing ruefully out the window, she cursed that morning had come so soon. She had been having such a beautiful, pleasant dream, and she hadn't wanted it to end. Christine knew that if it ended, she would have a hard time recalling it. And, even now, so soon after being woken up, the dream was slipping through her fingers like water. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall it for just a moment longer… But it was gone. Hopeless. With a sigh, she pushed back her blankets and climbed out of bed.

She swiftly changed from her blue nightdress and slipped on her white, long-sleeved shirt. Over this, she put on a dress the same azure as the sky. Once she was satisfied her dress was presentable, she grabbed a brush from her little wooden vanity, sat down and started brushing out her chocolate curls. Her pale, brown-eyed reflection stared out at her as she wrenched the brush through her bed-hair and, when her hair was successfully detangled, she put the brush down, stood from her vanity, and exited her room.

Her father was already up. She could hear him sitting in the kitchen of their small, three-room cottage, tuning his violin. Christine walked down the hallway past pictures of her father and her mother and into the room that served as their kitchen and living room.

Gustave Daaé sat at the table, sheets of music spread out before him. He held his violin in one hand, bow in the other, and was working with a focused expression on putting the instrument back into tune. Her father had a pale, gaunt face and a full head of curly black hair. While he at first appeared to be a humorless person, it was easy to see in his sparkling eyes that Gustave enjoyed a joke as much as the next man.

"Good morning, father," Christine called from the doorway as she approached him.

Gustave quickly looked up at his daughter, his face brightening the way it always did when he laid eyes on her. "Good morning, my angel," he greeted her in return, a warm smile bringing a brightness to his face.

Christine placed a hand on his shoulder and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before turning to the counter and picking up her white apron. She tied it swiftly around her waist as she asked, "What do you want to eat this morning?"

"Eggs will do," he responded warmly.

The young brunette grabbed a wicker basket that was sitting on the table and headed towards the back door of the cottage. "I'll be right back to start that," she told him with a smile. Christine pushed the door open and exited the home.

She took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp, fresh air that entered her nose. If there was a time of year that she loved most, it was the autumn. Right after the world got done overheating, right before it was ready to freeze… A perfect cool, crisp feeling to the air… Just beautiful. There was no time she loved more than the autumnal season.

The small farm that served as their backyard was already full of activity. The chickens were out of the coop, pecking at the gravel looking for seeds. The cows had already been put out to feed, and were munching contentedly on the grass. The horses were in the corral, whinnying and racing around, getting out the last of the previous night's exhaustion. Christine smiled, knowing Gustave would have come to do this earlier in the day so she wouldn't need to now.

With the sound of the farm surrounding her, Christine turned and headed for the chicken coop. She reached carefully inside and felt around before finding what she was looking for; the hard, oval shell of an egg. She pulled her arm out, egg in hand, and placed it in the basket. Christine did this several more times, making sure she grabbed all of the eggs. When her basket was full, she climbed to her feet, brushed off the skirt of her dress, and picked up her basket, heading back inside.

Gustave had, in the meantime, finished tuning his violin and was now practicing a new piece. His bow flew across his strings and his fingers danced over the bridge as the beautiful sound of the violin filled their small home. Christine smiled, humming along as she turned on their little stove and began breaking the eggs open. The sound of sizzling egg soon joined the sound of music flowing through the kitchen.

"It sounds beautiful, father," Christine called to him from the stove as she cooked their breakfast.

"Doesn't it? I've been practicing for a while," he responded. "It needs to be perfect if I'm going to perform it at a festival."

"Are there any of those festivals coming up soon that you'll be attending?"

The music stopped as Gustave put his violin down. "As a matter of fact," he told her, "there's one in a few days two towns over. I was thinking of going to it and playing, seeing what I can scrape together fund-wise."

Christine had finished her father's three eggs and placed them on a plate which she set in front of him. "Do you know when you'll be leaving?" she asked him.

"I need to be on my way by noon at the latest." He took a mouthful of egg. "Will you be alright here on your own while I'm away?"

With a smile Christine told him, "I have been before. What makes this time any different?"

She turned back to the stove and started on one more egg, this one for herself. Through a mouthful of egg she heard Gustave say, "Are you going into town today?"

"I think I am." Christine pushed the single egg from the pan onto a plate and grabbed a fork. She started to eat as she continued, "I was thinking of heading to the Opera Populaire today, maybe seeing what auditions their holding."

"That's a marvelous idea, Christine!"

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

If there was any pass time Christine enjoyed, it was singing while he father played his violin. Gustave had taught Christine to sing at a young age, and her love for the performing arts had only blossomed from there. She had been planning on going to audition for some musical theater for quite some time now, but she had always felt so unsure of her voice, and she didn't have much confidence in her singing abilities.

Gustave came and stood in front of his daughter, putting his hands on her shoulders. "It's a wonderful idea." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "And it's about time, too. I was starting to think my lessons were going to go to waste!"

Christine gave a light laugh and finished her egg. "Do you have anything you need me to do for you while I'm in town?"

"Um… Yes, actually. I borrowed a book from the de Chagny's the other day. Do you think you could drop by and return it for me?"

At the mention of the de Chagny's, Christine felt her face flush. An image of a tall, handsome man with shoulder-length sandy brown hair and soft blue eyes filled her mind. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing the image away. "Of course father," she responded, her voice shaking obviously.

She heard Gustave laugh. He knew about his daughter's attraction to the de Chagny's second oldest son, Raoul. He and Christine had grown up together, and had been very close as children. Now, as young adults, their friendship seemed to have blossomed into something more. Gustave highly encouraged this young romance, and so any opportunity he had to get her and Raoul to spend time together, he took. "I appreciate that, dear angel," he told her sincerely.

Christine washed her plate, collected the book from her father, and, after giving Gustave one final hug, exited the cottage, this time through the front door. She turned towards the town, and felt her heart race as she looked instinctively up at the large castle looming high above the village. The stories of the once kind and gentle Prince Erik returned to her, and she felt her blood run cold. Ever since he had lost his parents nearly six years ago, the prince had become cold, distant, and cruel. Among the townsfolk, he had earned the name Cruel Prince Erik, though they never said it loud; the prince could be listening. He never left his palace and anyone that wandered too close simply disappeared, rarely ever seen again. Christine felt a chill raced down her spine as she clutched the de Chagny's book to her chest. Not wanting to think on it any longer, she tore her eyes away from the castle upon its lonely hill and started towards the village.

Gustave and Christine lived on the far edge of the little town. They were the furthest out from the castle, and their house served as a border to the village. Despite that, it was really only a short walk from the Daaé home to the de Chagny home, and from there, an even shorter walk to the Opera Populaire which stood at the base of the hill the palace rested on. Christine closed the distant between her and the de Chagny home at as fast a pace as she could without running. She was looking forward to seeing Raoul again; it had been so long since she had.

The de Chagny's lived in the biggest house in the village; a three-story home with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two parlors, one kitchen, and one dining room. It was an elegant home, and the nicest that could be found (outside of the prince's palace). Christine stopped in front of their mahogany front door and took the silver knocker in her hand. She rapped three times, then stepped back, waiting for the door to open.

After only a few short moments, the door was pulled inwards and she was looking into the smiling face of her childhood sweetheart, Raoul de Chagny. "Good morning, Christine," he greeted her with a wide smile.

"Good morning, Raoul," she responded gently.

He stood off to the side, admitting her into his home. His brown hair was shining in the light of the sun spilling through the open doorway, and he wore a black suit jacket over a white shirt and black slacks. Raoul's light blue eyes sparkled with joy as he looked at Christine. "It's good to see you again, Mademoiselle. It's been quite a long while."

"And I am sorry about that," she responded with a sheepish smile. "But father and I have been very busy. He's been attending more festivals as of late, and is headed to another one very shortly…"

"You don't need to explain yourself, Christine. I understand."

Christine felt her face flush at Raoul's sudden drop in formalities. She bowed her head, hoping to hide it from Raoul. "I have your book, Monsieur," she told him softly, holding it out for him to take. "My father thanks you for letting him borrow it…"

Raoul laughed gently as he took the book from her. "You don't have to be so embarrassed, Little Lotte."

She felt her face flush further as Raoul used his pet name for her. When they had been growing up, the pair and thoroughly enjoyed listening to Gustave tell them of Little Lotte. Raoul had been so entranced by the young girl in the stories, he had taken to calling Christine by that name to demonstrate his affection for her.

Seeing that his comment had not helped relax her in the slightest, Raoul changed the subject. "What are your plans for the morning?"

"Well, I was thinking of going down and seeing if the Opera Populaire was holding auditions…"

"Really?" he asked, his voice full of excitement. "Christine, that's wonderful! You have such a beautiful voice, they would be fools down there if they _didn't_ cast you!"

"Thank you, Raoul," Christine said, looking up at him at last.

"May I accompany you down to the opera house?" he held an arm out to her, and Christine smiled as she wound her arm through his.

"Lead on, Monsieur."

Arm-in-arm, the pair exited the house, Raoul calling a swift farewell to his parents. As the two walked down the crowded streets, Christine felt her heart race at how close Raoul was standing. He was talking about things going on with his family, but she found that the words had no meaning to her. The sound of his melodic voice flowing into her ears… That was the only thing she understood right now. She was happy simply being with him, beside him. Right at that moment, Christine considered not going to the Opera Populaire and auditioning; instead, she would spend all morning with Raoul. They could go ride their horses through the meadows and have a picnic somewhere far from the village, far from the prince's looming castle… It would be the perfect day. And, Christine knew her father's horse, Bayard, could use a run. Before she could propose this idea, though, she found Raoul and herself standing outside the Opera Populaire.

It was the only building in town made of white marble, and large Greek-style pillars held up the ledge on the roof. Together, she and Raoul walked up the pure white stairs. He dropped her arm for a moment, pushing open the door and holding it for her. She thanked him with a smile as she passed and waited for him to follow her in. He took her arm once more.

The ceiling was high above them, and the whole entry hall was washed in a warm, bronze glow from the torches lining the walls. A grand staircase wound its way up, branching off to the left and right after several stairs. Elegant carvings had been cut into the pillars and the ceiling, and the whole room looked as Christine imagined a castle would. She gripped Raoul's arm tighter as she saw a man she recognized as the manager and a woman who must have been La Carlotta, the current _Prima Donna_.

Monsieur Lefèvre had been the manager of the Opera Populaire for nearly fifteen years, the longest any had held that position as far as Christine knew. He was a tall man, standing much taller than the young striding next to him and he looked quite young. Her father had told her that Monsieur Lefèvre was more than fifty years old, but he definitely didn't look it. His face was unlined, and he still had a full head of hair; though his hair seemed a bit gray, it still looked bright and healthy. He had a small mustache whose edges showed the slightest bit of gray, but that was the only hint to his aging. La Carlotta, the _Prima Donna_ standing beside him, reminded Christine of a large pink poodle. She was dressed in a fluffy, pink gown, complete with a matching hat resting on her bright orange hair. La Carlotta had a proud expression, and boasted a clear, bright complexion.

The pair saw Christine and Raoul standing at the base of the stairs, and Monsieur Lefèvre came to meet them. "Good morning, Monsieur de Chagny, and you as well, Mademoiselle! Welcome to the Opera Populaire! How may I be of assistance?"

"Hello, Monsieur Lefèvre," Raoul greeted kindly. He was a frequent visitor to the Opera Populaire, and seemed to be on good terms with the manager if not La Carlotta, who still stood on the stairs watching the three of them converse with an annoyed expression. "This is my friend, Christine Daaé."

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle Daaé," Monsieur Lefèvre took her free hand in his and gave it a quick kiss in greeting. By this time, La Carlotta had left the stairs and came to stand beside Monsieur Lefèvre. She continued to eye Christine and Raoul with that annoyed look.

"I do not believe I have seen you at the Opera Populaire before, Mademoiselle Daaé," La Carlotta spoke. She had a voice like grating metal or nails down a chalkboard. It took all of Christine's strength not to shudder as the sound breached her eardrums.

"Ah, yes," Christine responded, gritting her teeth. "You see, Monsieur, Madame, I come from a poor family. We don't have enough money to come see performances. Although, both my father and I wish that we could. We both love the arts, especially opera."

La Carlotta scoffed at her words. Christine didn't like this woman, and she hadn't even had a full conversation with her yet.

"Well, what can we do for you this lovely morning?" Monsieur Lefèvre asked her with a large smile.

"I was…well, I was sort of hoping that you might be…" Christine stuttered, embarrassed. She felt Raoul give her arm and encouraging squeeze and she finished quickly, "I was hoping you might be holding auditions."

At this, La Carlotta laughed aloud. Monsieur Lefèvre didn't acknowledge her outburst; he was busy studying Christine intensely. "I suppose you are quite pretty, which is always nice for prospective actresses... But looks are not everything, you understand. I would need to hear you sing before I made a decision... Perhaps I can find time to host a quick audition..."

"And what would we audition her with?" La Carlotta asked, her voice full of annoyance that Monsieur Lefèvre was even considering auditioning her.

"I'm not asking for a lead role," Christine told them quickly. "Just a part in the ensemble would do. My father trained me to sing, and I have known how to dance for quite a while. I am more than willing to demonstrate if you find you have the time."

Monsieur Lefèvre watched her closely, nodding as she spoke. "We could use an extra voice in the ensemble… Yes, I think a demonstration would be nice. But not here… Perhaps, Mademoiselle, you would follow us into the auditorium? We could hold your audition now and have your answer to you by tomorrow. Monsieur de Chagny, you would need to wait here for her. This needs to be a private affair if it is to be unbiased."

"That is perfect," Christine responded.

Raoul took his arm from hers and whispered, "I'll be here waiting for you to come back."

Christine followed the manager and La Carlotta up the stairs and through the back hallway. They led her down the halls and through a large set of double doors. The auditorium was empty except for a small mousy man whose head was balding. A thing layer of snow white hair streaked with gray covered the back of his skull and his face was clean shaven. He stood in the orchestra pit, reading over a piece of sheet music.

The auditorium was elegant, filled with hundreds of bright red seats. The stage was bordered by a large red curtain that shone brightly in the torchlight, embroidered with golden thread. Polished, golden statues of nude men and women in suggestive poses graced almost every pillar, and made Christine blush when she looked at them for too long. Perhaps the most beautiful thing in the whole hall was hanging high above their heads. A stunning chandelier crafted of gold and embellished with chains of diamonds was glittering warmly in the firelight. Christine's breath caught as she looked up at it.

"It is astounding, isn't it?" Monsieur Lefèvre asked, following her gaze. "It is the most amazing thing this opera house has to offer the people." La Carlotta, who had entered behind Christine, cleared her throat loudly. Monsieur Lefèvre flinched as he corrected himself, "The _second_ most amazing thing this opera house has to offer. Madame La Carlotta is, of course, the first."

 _I'm sure she is…_ Christine thought, forcing herself to smile at Monsieur Lefèvre's comment. "I am sure there is no one more talented than your _Prima Donna_ ," she told him kindly.

Monsieur Lefèvre smiled at her before clearing his throat and calling, "Monsieur Reyer!" The man in the pit jumped when he heard his name called and turned quickly to face the manager. "Would you mind opening to the aria _Think of Me_ and accompanying Mademoiselle Daaé for her audition?"

"Of course, Monsieur," the man in the pit called brightly.

"Just go stand on the stage. Monsieur Reyer will hand you sheet music and you will sing it to the best of your ability. Just the first verse, please," Monsieur Lefèvre instructed her.

Christine nodded and walked across the hall and up the stairs onto the stage. Monsieur Reyer had climbed out of the pit and handed her a piece of music when she reached him. She felt herself sigh in relief – she recognized this song. Her father was very fond of opera _Hannibal_ , and had used this piece in particular when he taught Christine to sing.

As she prepared herself, she heard Madame La Carlotta's voice carry from the audience, "But that is _my_ song! You are not giving it away to some little poor girl!"

"Of course not, Señora!" Monsieur Lefèvre told her. _Was that exasperation in his voice?_ Christine wondered. "This is just an audition! We are not giving away your part!"

From behind her, sitting at a grand piano on the stage, Monsieur Reyer called, "Whenever you are ready."

She turned to him and nodded, closing her eyes as he struck up the music. She counted the beats in her head, then opened her eyes and looked at her small audience. As the time came to begin, Christine felt herself start to shake. She could only pray that it wasn't noticeable to her two audience members. Christine opened her mouth and began to sing. **_"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try. And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, stop and think of me."_**

In her mind, she had done it flawlessly. She had hit every note correctly, every word was understandable, her vowels had been tall, she hadn't sounded breathy, and her voice had carried all the way to the back of the auditorium, reverberating around the empty halls. Christine believed that she couldn't have performed it better.

The piano stopped and Christine used the moment of quiet to take a deep breath. She didn't like how long the two of them sat therein silence, watching her. Christine made sure to keep a smile on her face. "After an audition," Gustave always told her, "You wait to be dismissed. And you smile until they dismiss you. Don't show how nervous you are, or they won't want you."

After several painstaking moments, Monsieur Lefèvre called, "Thank you for auditioning for us, Mademoiselle. You may go; you will have your answer early tomorrow."

"Thank you," Christine bowed to them, turned, and gave the sheet music back to Monsieur Reyer.

He smiled at her as he took it and whispered, "You did very well, miss."

Christine returned his smile and exited the auditorium. She found Raoul sitting on the steps in the entry hall. When he saw her, he climbed to his feet and offered her his arm again. The two exited the opera house. They walked back to Raoul's house in silence, but once they were outside his door he asked, "How did it go?"

"I think it went well," Christine told him honestly. "I did better than I thought I was going to, and I don't think I could have done it any differently."

Raoul nodded, looking proudly down at her. "Would you like to come in for a bit?" he offered.

Her heart screamed at her to say yes, but she could tell from how bright the sky was getting that it was getting close to noon. Her father would be leaving soon, and she wanted to be there to say goodbye. "I'm sorry, Raoul, but I can't. My father will be leaving for a festival soon, and I want to see him off."

He smiled at her and nodded. "I understand. Gustave is important to you." He gave her a quick hug before turning and opening his door. "Wish him luck for me, alright?"

"Will do," Christine promised. Raoul gave her one last smile before closing the door. With the memory of her audition whirling through her mind, Christine turned and left the de Chagny estate. She walked back up the road to her small cottage.

By the time she got back, her father and packed up their small wagon and was finishing hitching up Bayard, his oldest and favorite horse. Looks like the old boy was getting to go for a run after all. His violin was sitting in its case on the driver's seat and a small suitcase had been placed in the back of the wagon. Christine closed the distance between her and her father calling, "Let me help you."

Gratefully, Gustave moved to the side and watched his daughter finish hitching Bayard to the wagon. As she worked he questioned, "Did you audition?"

"Yes, I did."

"And?"

"It went very well. I think I surprised the managers with how well I did."

"That wouldn't surprise me in the slightest."

Christine stepped back; Bayard was properly hitched and the wagon was ready to be on its way. Gustave climbed up into the driver's seat, moving his violin into the back. He smiled down at his daughter and told her, "Be good while I'm away."

"I always am, Father. Have safe travels... And Raoul wishes you good luck while your at the festival."

"That is awfully kind of him," Gustave laughed. With one last smile at Christine, her father whipped the reins and set Bayard into motion. The wagon wheels creaked in protestation, but eventually the old wagon was moving at a quick, steady pace. Christine stood in front of their house, watching until the wagon was out of sight. Then, she turned back and headed into the cottage.


	3. Two

**Two**

It was late. Much too late, in fact. By Gustave's calculations, he should have reached the next village over by now. He should have reached in hours ago, if his maps were accurate. So why wasn't he there yet? Gustave had pushed the horse and carriage as hard as he could, wanting to reach the town as fast as he could. Now, as he looked around, he realized that he may have pushed them too quickly. He had gone to this town several times in his travels, and had memorized specific landmarks so he would know if he was on the right trail. As he sat up the driver's seat, looking around, he realized that he could find none of those landmarks now.

Silently cursing himself, Gustave reached into the back of the wagon and pulled his maps up to rest on his lap. He took the hanging lantern from its hook on the front of the wagon and held it close to the map, trying to see if he could figure out where he was or where he had gone wrong. Somewhere along the line, Gustave and taken a wrong turn and he was now horribly lost.

As he sat staring at his map, he let the horse continue onward. The trees on either side of him began to thicken, and the little grove swiftly became a large forest. What little moonlight there had been was now being blocked out by trees pressing in on either side of him. Gustave squinted at the map, but soon saw that it was no use. It was too dark even with the lantern to make out any details on it. Shaking his head in frustration, he slammed the lantern back on its hook and threw the maps into the back of the wagon.

Perhaps it was best if he turned around. At this rate, it would be too dark to see where he was going. The horse could easily break a leg, or a wheel could be knocked loose by the jarring of the rocky road beneath him. If he turned back, he might be able to find an inn… But if he did that, he would never reach the festival in time, and he and Christine needed what money he could get from his performing there.

Pros and cons of turning around played through his mind when, suddenly, there came a howling of wolves off in the trees. Gustave whipped around, facing the direction the sound had come from, eyes wide with fright. It would be a better idea for him to turn back. There were dangerous animals hiding in this dense forest… And there might be something worse, too. Gustave had heard rumors of bandits hiding amongst trees, waiting for unwary travelers…

That was it. He had scared himself into it, and was now flicking the horses reins, having the beast turn the wagon around. Before he had fully turned the wagon to face the other direction, he heard a loud laugh come from his right in the group of trees. Someone was watching him. "Hello?" Gustave called out loudly. "Who's there?" Only a light wind in the leaves above him answered. "I'm warning you, I'm armed!"

"Ooh, he's armed!" came a mocking response.

"Oh no, we better run while we still can!" another equally mocking voice squeaked.

"Come on, boys!" called a third voice with the same mocking tone. "He's an old man. I think the three of us can take 'em, even if he is armed." This third voice, while still mocking, carried a tone of authority about it. Whoever this speaker was, it was evident he was in charge.

From out of the trees came three men dressed in rags. Their hair was filthy and matted and falling well past their shoulders and their eyes glinted maliciously up at Gustave in his wagon. They were all carrying daggers. The blades may have been short, but Gustave could tell that they were sharp and deadly. Just based on their appearances alone, Gustave knew he had come across the bandits he had just been worrying over.

"Who are you men?" he barked, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Wouldn't you like to know," the bandit with the commanding voice said. He came towards Gustave and wrenched the reins out of his hands. "I'm more curious about who you are, and about what kind of goods you're hiding in this here wagon."

"Yeah, I was wondering that, too," the second bandit, the shortest in the group and the one with the squeaky voice, piped up.

"Here's what's gonna happen, old man," the first bandit went on, ignoring the shorter bandit's interruption. "You're gonna get off this here wagon and we're gonna take a look through what you got in your bag."

"I will do no such thing." Gustave crossed his arms, staring proudly down at the man beneath him.

The bandit gave a small laugh and responded, "See, I wasn't asking ya to get off." He reached up and gripped Gustave's arm tightly. "I was tellin' ya." The bandit wrenched Gustave down from the wagon. He fell to the rocky trail, landing roughly on his elbows. "Alright boys, search the wagon."

With this order, the two other men moved in, climbing into the back of Gustave's wagon. One threw open his suitcase and started rummaging through his clothes while the other unhooked his violin case, throwing the top open. "Look at this beauty," he called, pulling the instrument from its holder.

"Now that is quite pretty," the leader of the bandits remarked. He was standing over Gustave with one boot resting squarely between his shoulders. He hadn't put too much pressure down, but it was just enough to keep Gustave pinned. "How much do ya think it's worth?"

"No, please!" Gustave cried in spite of himself. "I need that! Without it my family will starve!" Christine's face swam up before him, filling his vision. If he lost that violin, he lost their only source of income. If he lost it, he wouldn't be able to replace it, and if that happened… He dared not think of what would happen if he was no longer able to bring home money for food.

"Aw, will your wittle family stawve?" the man mocked. "Do you think anyone cared when my family starved? Do you think anyone cared that the only thing keeping them alive was my thieving? No! No one cared when my family starved, and now I don't care that yours will? Take it. We'll get a pretty penny for it."

Gustave's heart leapt into his throat as the bandit put the violin down. Meanwhile, the other bandit had finished digging through Gustave's bag. "I only found a handful of francs. Not much else."

"Alright, I guess that'll do. Between that, the money from the instrument, and what we can get for the horse… Pretty good theft. Unhook the beast," the bandit standing above Gustave ordered.

 _They're going to unhook the horse…_ Gustave thought. This is my chance! The horse that Gustave had brought with him, Bayard, was the horse that he himself had raised from a colt. It had started as the runt of the litter of horses born by Gustave's mares, but had become one of the strongest horses on the farm through his gentle care. Now, Bayard was quite fond of Gustave, and had grown very protective. Gustave watched, his heart pounding, as the two men worked together to unhook Bayard.

When the animal was free of its burden, Gustave, with some difficulty, brought his hand up to his mouth and gave a loud, piercing whistle. At this signal, Bayard reared up on its hind legs, bringing them down on the nearest bandit. He snorted in fury and threw out its hind legs, slamming them into the second bandit's chest.

All of this happened before the bandit standing on Gustave could even blink. By the time "What the?" had passed his lips, the horse and raced into him, slamming him to the ground. Gustave jumped to his feet, threw his arms around Bayard's neck and yelled, "Yah!" The horse gave a loud whinny and raced off into the forest, Gustave clinging onto his neck for dear life.

Soon, all that could be heard from the bandits was frustrated shouting. And, not to long later, the shouts themselves disappeared. Once Gustave was sure the men weren't chasing him, he slowed Bayard down and climbed onto his back, panting. He petted the horse's mane whispering, "Good boy, good boy…"

Gustave rode deeper into the forest in silence, trying to catch his breath. He hadn't let Christine know - he hadn't let anyone know - but for a while now, he had been feeling quite sick. Gustave was feeling more tired, and had been having a bit of difficulty breathing sometimes. Not too long ago, he had started coughing very badly as well. He did everything he could to hide his sickness from Christine, not wanting her to get distracted by him. She had her own life to live, and he didn't want her losing any opportunities because he had gotten ill. Now, that illness was almost overpowering, and Gustave found that he couldn't quite catch his breath. He needed help, and he needed it fast.

As if in answer to a pray, a large iron gate appeared before him. A large, cursive D was carved into the metal of the gate, but Gustave barely noticed it. Where there was a gate, there was a house. And where there was a house, there was assistance. Gustave slid off his horse and pushed the gate open, relieved to find it unlocked. He pushed it closed behind him and walked, panting, up the long drive.

He soon found himself standing before a large, wooden door built into a castle made of black brick. Gustave pounded on the door and waited, praying that someone would answer it. Just when he was thinking that no one was coming, the door was pushed gingerly open. A young blonde girl of an age with Christine wearing a black and white servant's outfit stood staring at him with curiosity in her hazel eyes.

"Please…Mademoiselle…I need…help," Gustave begged.

The girl's eyes widened and she came out, taking his arm in hers. "Come in, Monsieur, and tell me everything."

She led him through the castle doors which closed behind them. They were standing in an entry hall so large, Gustave couldn't see the ceiling above them. The walls were lined with torches, and between these torches were pictures. Some were of people, others of famous scenes in history. The stone floor was covered in a black carpet made of a fine wool. A large stairwell stood before them, and two stairwells branched off of it, disappearing deeper into the castle. Hanging on the wall of the landing before the stairs branched off was another picture. This one was of a young man in a black suit with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. He wore a golden crown on his head and his hands were clasped in front of him. The man was smiling down at Gustave and the young servant.

"I was…in the forest…" Gustave began as he allowed himself to be led into the castle. The girl took him past the stairs into a side door that led into a large parlor. There was only one chair in the room, high backed and covered in a black fabric. A wooden table was set in front of the chair and a large fire place was sitting just behind that. A warm fire was crackling in the fireplace, which Gustave was grateful for. He hadn't realized how cold he had been. "I took…a wrong turn…somewhere…and was lost… All of…a sudden…these men came…out of the forest… They robbed me…"

The servant girl sat him down in the high backed chair before the table and knelt down in front of him. Gustave stopped to catch his breath. "Go on," she whispered.

"My horse…protected me…and we got away… But my carriage…and violin…and clothes got…left behind… Now…I can't…catch my breath… I have been…quite sick…for a while…" he finally allowed himself to admit.

"Oh, you poor man!" the servant cooed kindly. "I'll help you warm up. You're shaking like a leaf!"

As the girl stood, a sharp voice called from the doorway, "Meg Giry! What in the name of everything holy do you think you are doing?!"

A new woman, dressed in the same black-and-white gown as the girl, came into Gustave's field of view. She was elderly, and had a deeply lined, pinched face. Her light brown - but graying - hair was pulled back into a thin braid that fell well past her waist. Her brown, hawk like eyes rested first on Meg, and then on Gustave.

"I'm sorry, Maman," Meg told the woman quickly, bowing her head. "He came to the door and needed assistance! He was robbed, and is very ill!"

"That does not concern us!" the woman hissed. She sounded more concerned than angry. "Do you know what would happen if the master found him here? Sitting in his chair, no less! Do you understand how much trouble you would be in?!"

"Please, Madame... I do not...wish to be...a burden," Gustave began.

The woman's hard gaze found his. "You have no idea what you've done, coming here. You must leave immediately, before the master comes and finds you. I am sorry, Monsieur, but you will find no kindness or help here."

"Madame, I do not think...I can survive...out in the forest…"

"You definitely won't survive in this castle! Do you know where you are? Whose castle you are in?" her voice grew quieter, but it maintained its hard edge.

Gustave shook his head in response. He knew it must not be good, and realized from the woman's tone that he had made a grave mistake in entering the castle. But at the moment, he liked his odds in here better than out in the forest with the bandits and wolves.

The blonde girl, Meg, gave a small gasp. While they had been speaking, the door had opened. Light from the hallway filled the dark room. A quite voice floated from the doorway, as cold as ice and soft as silk. "I hear we have a guest."

Without a moment's hesitation, both Meg and the women dropped to the floor, their hands out above their heads which the pressed to the ground. Footsteps on the wooden floor started coming closer to the chair where Gustave was sitting. He felt his heart race and blood run cold as the footsteps stopped just behind the chair. His breath caught in his throat.

"Forgive me, my prince, it was my fault." Meg's voice came out tight and pinched, terrified of the man standing above her. "I didn't have the heart to turn him away, master. He was sick and had been attack by the bandits…"

"Silence." The voice didn't lose its soft tone, but the command was obvious in it. Meg gave a whimper, but stopped speaking. "Antoinette, I suggest you take your daughter and return to your quarters. Remind her of the rules of the palace."

"What of…?" Antoinette began.

"I will greet our guest…personally."

Antoinette and Meg climbed to their feet. While Meg cast him one last, apologetic look, Antoinette kept her head down and eyes trained on the floor. The two of them disappeared through the same door their master had appeared through.

"Are you enjoying my chair, Monsieur?" the voice hissed, right behind him.

Gustave climbed stiffly to his feet, fearing what was awaiting him. "I am sorry…Monsieur… If I had…known how little…you cared for visitors…I would not have…stopped here…"

"But as it is," the voice continued, "you did stop here. And I care very, very little for trespassers." It did not escape Gustave's attention that he had not used 'visitors'. The man had called Gustave a trespasser. The word had been said in such a way it sounded like a threat, and Gustave had a feeling that he was indeed being threatened.

The footsteps came around the chair and Gustave, suddenly afraid to meet the eyes of the master of the castle he now resided in, lowered his gaze, studying the floor. A pair of shiny black shoes and a bit of black dress slacks entered Gustave's vision. A part of a cape with a black outside and white, silken inside could also be seen. Gustave swallowed loudly.

"I beg your...pardons, Monsieur." His voice came out a strained whisper. "If I...trouble you so...I will depart and not return."

"You beg my forgiveness yet refuse to look upon me," the voice hissed at him. A gloved hand reached forward and grabbed Gustave's chin. His head was wrenched up, and Gustave was greeted with a horrifying sight.

The man before him was dressed in a black suit, wearing a long cape. Except for the underside – which was made of white silk – the cape was made of black cloth and he wore a black wig that shone in the torchlight. His skin was pale and his eyes were a deep emerald green. The one thing that drew Gustave's eyes more than anything else was the piece on his face. It was a stark, white mask that covered only the right side of his face. Gustave felt his mouth drop open as he recognized the man standing before him.

"Prince Erik…" he whispered, fear flooding his voice. The prince smiled crookedly at him and dropped his hand from Gustave's chin. Once he was released, Gustave dropped into the same bow that Meg and Antoinette had taken earlier. "Please, my prince…forgive me…I did not…mean to trespass…" Gustave was finding it harder to breathe than before.

"Now you are truly sorry. But only because you know who I am and what I am capable of." Prince Erik grabbed Gustave by the scruff of his neck and yanked him into a sitting position. Gustave cried out in pain. "Your apology is not accepted."

Prince Erik jerked Gustave to his feet, then pulled his arms behind his back. Grabbing a rope he had at his belt, he bound Gustave's hands so tight, the blood flow to his fingers stopped. The prince grabbed Gustave's arm and wrenched him from the room, down the hall, and up the stairs. He tugged him up three floors and into a narrow hallway occupied only by a spiral staircase. Prince Erik dragged him up the spiral stairs and into a tower filled with cells. He wrenched open a door and shoved Gustave to the ground inside it, closing and locking it behind him.

"Please...Prince Erik!" Gustave cried out in desperation, his breathing coming in shorter bursts. "Please, don't...leave me...here! My daughter...needs me! She'll die...without me! Please!"

Gustave's pleas fell on deaf ears as the prince turned and walked away from the cell. "Now think on what you have done," was the only thing the masked man told him before exiting the room, slamming the door behind him.


	4. Three

**Three**

Her father had been gone for two days when Christine discovered that something had gone horribly wrong. She had been out tending the horses, and her day had actually gotten off to a fairly good start. It began when Monsieur Lefèvre himself arrived at her cottage, wearing a large smile. "Congratulations," he informed her, "you have been cast in the ensemble of Hannibal." Under normal circumstance, Monsieur Lefèvre would not have come himself, but she had made such an impression on him that he had decided he wanted to tell her the good news in person. Rehearsals wouldn't be starting for another several months, but the casting was in full swing, and she was guaranteed a spot in the new opera. Once Christine had seen him off, her day got even better. Raoul arrived only moments later with a bouquet of red roses, Christine's favorite flower.

"Good morning, Little Lotte," he called to her from the back gate.

She smiled when she saw him and raced over to tell him the good news. "I've been cast in Hannibal, Raoul! They liked my audition!"

"Of course they did!" Raoul exclaimed as he gave her a bear hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in large circles. They both laughed together as Raoul let himself fall to the ground, Christine landing on top of him. She smiled down at him and he up at her. Deciding that the farm chores could wait, Christine led Raoul into her small kitchen and let him sit at the table.

The two sat and talked the morning away, each trading news they wanted to share. Christine told him that her father had been gone for two days, and would, at this point, be at the festival grounds, playing his heart out. Raoul told her that his parents had informed him that he was now at an appropriate marrying age, and they expected him to be married and moved out by the end of the next year. Christine asked if he had any specific woman he had in mind, and he told her that there was one girl that he had known for quite a long time, and he was thinking of asking her in a few months. She had told Raoul that, whoever this girl was, she would be very pleased by his offer. They had both smiled at this, each knowing there was only one girl he could possibly be referring to.

When the morning ended, Raoul had to return home. Christine saw him out the front way, wishing that he could stay for just a while longer. "I hope to see you again soon, Little Lotte," he told her as he mounted his horse. "We should no longer wait a week before seeing each other again."

"I have the same hope, Raoul. You will have to visit again when Father returns from his festival."

"When is he due back? I'll come to dinner that night," Raoul responded with a smile.

"He should be home in a few more days. I'll come get you once he's settled back in."

With their final goodbyes said, Raoul had turned his horse and been about to ride away. Then, all of a sudden, a riderless horse appeared on the horizon. "Well that's odd," he remarked, squinting to see it better.

Christine narrowed her eyes and felt her heart race as the animal got closer. "That's my father's horse!" she cried.

"What?!" Raoul hopped down from his mount, worry filling his expression.

Without waiting Raoul's feet to hit the ground, Christine ran towards the horse frantically galloping up to the little cottage. She met the beast halfway, and reached her hands out. "Woah, boy, woah!" Bayard whinnied in irritation, wanting to be allowed to return home. Christine ran her hands through his tangled mane as she asked, "Where's Father?"

Raoul came up behind her, panting from the run over. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"I don't know," Christine responded, her voice flooded with worry. "This is Father's horse, but I don't see him nearby… And the wagon's gone, as well…" She turned to face Raoul with horror in her eyes. "I think something's happened to my father!"

"Slow down, Christine," Raoul told her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure there's an explanation for this. Before we start jumping to conclusions, why don't I go fetch my father and some men? We'll go out and see if we can find any sign of Gustave, and we'll work from there." Christine nodded in response. "We'll find him, Little Lotte, I promise, but I need you to wait here. Don't go anywhere while I'm gone." Once more, Christine nodded. Raoul ran back up to the house, and, a few moments later, went racing past her on his horse, headed to find help.

Christine placed a hand Bayard's neck and started leading him slowly back to the barn. Something terrible had happened to her father, she just knew it! As she ran her fingers through the horse's mane, thinking of all of the terrible things that could have happened to Gustave, she felt something papery that had been knotted into the horse's hair. Taking a closer look, Christine saw a small leaf stuck in the mane. Gently, she pulled the leaf out and scrutinized it. It was a blackened leaf that looked like it was from an oak. A blackened oak leaf…

Her face paled as she realized where the leaf had come from. The trees that held these leaves seemed to defy all laws of nature, growing in only one color and maintaining that same color all year. Blackened oaks were very rare, and – miraculously – only grew in one location. She turned, looking up at Prince Erik's looming castle. Her stomach dropped. Gustave had been in the forests at the base of the castle. For whatever reason, he had ended up in one of the most dangerous places in the kingdom. Christine looked fearfully where Raoul had disappeared, but she didn't see him or anyone else riding up the way. Now that she knew where her father had ended up, she knew didn't have time to wait for Raoul to come back, and neither did her father.

Without further hesitation, Christine pulled herself onto Bayard's back and whispered in his ear, "Take me to Father."

Somehow, Bayard seemed to know what she had told him. He whipped around and took off down the road, racing towards the forest just under the castle of the Cruel Prince Erik. The ride took several hours, but she still made the journey in less time than it would have taken with a wagon. If her father was here, she might be able to find him quickly. She soon found herself deep in the blackened forest, looking around for any sign of her father. In a matter of moments, Christine found what she was looking for.

Bayard stopped in front of her father's wagon.

It had been turned on its side, as if in anger, and his suitcase lay open and empty. His clothes had been tossed about, some of them torn. The case that once held his violin was also empty, and the violin was laying beside the wagon, its bridge snapped and strings broken. Someone had stepped on it. Christine, still on the back of the horse, felt her hand shoot to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes as she took in the scene. Through her fear, Christine felt a small ray of hope fill her when she realized there was no blood, and no bodies. Her father had, somehow, managed to survive whatever had befallen him on this leg of his journey.

Her suspicion was confirmed when Bayard, after giving a nervous whinny, started deeper into the forest. They rode for a short while longer before coming to a large iron gate decorated to look like ivy. A large, cursive D was carved into the metalwork, and Christine knew this was where the prince's castle property officially began. Once she was through this gate, it was only a matter of time before she would reach his front door.

And this was where her father had gone.

Christine slid gently off the horse's back and pushed the gate open, surprised to find it was unlocked. She went back and got on the horse once more, riding him slowly up the path. Shortly after passing through the gate, Christine found herself standing in front of the doors to the castle. Her heart in her throat, she once again slid from the horse's back. Without knocking, Christine pushed the door open.

She stepped into a large entry hall with walls covered in paintings and the floor covered in black carpeting. A stairwell leading up onto higher floors that resembled the grand staircase in the Opera Populaire greeted her, and the picture of a handsome young man smiled down at her. She assumed that this was Prince Erik; albeit, a happier Prince Erik. Christine closed the large door behind her and started towards the stairwell. She climbed up the rightmost set of stairs, not knowing that she was being watched.

* * *

Antoinette Giry and seen the door open, and was about the hurry out this second, unwanted guest when she laid eyes on the young girl. The moment she saw her, Antoinette was transported back to six years ago, to a happier time. She was reliving the night of the dance, the night Prince Erik had found his true love. Not many knew of the great loss the prince had suffered that night. Everyone, of course, knew of his parents, but only she, the prince, and the doctor who treated his burns knew of the one who had disappeared with the prince that fateful night: the brunette angel who had won his heart and utterly shattered it in less than twenty-four hours. This girl who had come to the castle now… She looked just like that young woman! The girl had the same brunette hair, the same brown eyes, the same air about her… Whoever this girl was, she was an exact copy of the one from before. The resemblance caused Antoinette to hesitate. Instead of simply sending the girl away like she knew she should have, Antoinette decided to follow her and learn what her business in the castle was.

The girl headed up the staircase and continued climbing up; up three floors. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, though how she knew this, Antoinette wasn't sure. Once she reached the third floor, the girl found her way to the spiral staircase that led to the tower dungeon. Antoinette's heart raced as she realized that there was only one thing that the girl could possibly be here for. That man that had arrived a few nights ago, the man her master had imprisoned… She was looking for him…

* * *

When Christine found the door, she knew it was the one she was looking for. She had managed to find it by following her instinct, listening to the little voice whispering directions. Now, here she was. Slowly, Christine pushed the door open. From inside the room she heard a voice muttering, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Christine immediately recognized the voice of Gustave. "Father!" she cried in relief, rushing to the cell where she had heard his voice.

With great difficulty, Gustave pushed himself up when he heard her voice. "Christine? Is that you?"

"I'm here, Father," she responded tearfully, reaching through the holes in the cell to grab her father's hand. It was then that she realized that he wasn't able to give her his hands, as they were bound behind his back. Fear and anger surged through her when she saw this. "I'm going to get you out," she told him firmly, bringing her arm back through the holes.

"No, Christine, you…need to leave! Right now, before…he finds…you! He's…evil, Christine! If he…sees you here…he'll lock you…away…too!"

"I'm not leaving you, Father!" She climbed to her feet and scanned the dark room, hoping to find a key to the cell door whilst ignoring the problems her father was having catching his breath. How long had he been having that problem? She tried to shake her worry over it from her head; it was no use to either of them for her to be distracted by his health while he was still in that cage. Even with her clear head, Christine soon learned that her being focused didn't much matter; the room was too dark. She would need the little light the spiral staircase offered if she wanted to be able to see anything. Christine quickly crossed the room and gently pushed the door open.

She screamed when she saw the figure standing in the door way. Falling to the ground, she pushed herself away from the door, pressing against the cell her father was being held in. "Two guests in as many days? Things are getting interesting, aren't they?" The voice was melodic, almost as if the speaker was singing, not talking. It flowed smooth as silk, and would have been calming if it hadn't been so cold.

The man in the door entered the room, closing it behind him. "Who…who do you think you are, locking away an innocent man like you have?" she asked, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"Who do I think I am? Who do you think you are, sneaking into my castle and into my tower, trying to free my prisoner? Is this any way to treat your prince?"

"It is if he's an a…"

"Christine, no!" her father interrupted her. "Don't...anger him...further."

The man Christine now knew to be Prince Erik stalked closer. "Your father is right, child. You should be careful not to make me any angrier… If I was in my right mind, I would throw you in a cell alongside your father. But I am feeling unusually generous today; you have once chance to leave. If you do not take it, then be prepared to spend the rest of your life imprisoned."

Prince Erik still stood far off, cloaked in shadows. Christine could not see him, and she knew he could not see her which she was grateful for. She wouldn't be able to sound imposing if he could see her shaking. Looking at where she thought his face would be, Christine replied, "I will only leave if my father leaves with me."

She could hear the prince sigh. "You are a fool, then." He closed the distance between them and gripped her arm painful in a large, gloved hand. She could see him clearly now; he was dressed in all black, save for his cape which had white lining and a haunting white mask that covered only the right side of his face. His green eyes fell on her brown ones, and in the instant their eyes met, his hand fell away from her arm. He took a small step backwards and his face gained a haunted, confused look. "It…it cannot be…"

Christine cowered against the cell, still looking at the prince's white mask. Her arm throbbed where the prince had grabbed her and she could feel her father close behind her, pressing against the bars of the cell.

"You cannot be…but you must… You look…just like her." All of the hostility had melted from Prince Erik's voice and form. He looked more like a lost and lonely puppy in that moment than an evil and cruel prince. The prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again he glared down at Christine and said, "I have decided to show some mercy, but you must make a decision: either your father remains and you leave, never to return or… I set your father free and you remain here with me, forever. If you chose this, I will release your father, but you will never be permitted to leave this palace again. Make your choice."

Her heart began to race as she turned to look at her father in his cell. She could see now, just by looking at him, that he was very sick. He was pale, and, as she had heard before, wasn't breathing normally. If she left him here, it would only be a matter of time before he died, Christine knew. She couldn't leave him to that fate. Her decision must have shown in her eyes because her father cried, "No, Christine; you can't...do this!"

"I have to, Father," she whispered, feeling tears of sadness and fear well up in her eyes. "It's the only way…"

"Christine, I'm an...old man. I've lived...my life. But you...you are still...young and full...of energy! You have your...future to think of! What of the...Opera Populaire? What of...Raoul? You can't give all...of that up...just for my sake!"

She looked at her father sadly and said, "Yes, I do."

"Christine!" her father shouted.

Slowly, she turned to face the prince who was standing over her, his arms crossed. "Release him," she told him simply.

Prince Erik nodded and shoved her out of the way. He unlocked the cage door and yanked Gustave from it. "Your time has been served." The prince gave a crooked smile before dragging him out of the room.

"No, wait!" he pleaded. "You have to let...me say goodbye! She's my...daughter! Let me say...goodbye, you monster!"

"Please!" Christine climbed to her feet, trying to reach the prince as he pulled her father from the room. "Let us say goodbye!"

Her father's pained gaze met hers for the last time as he shouted, "Christine, I lo-"

The door slammed shut, and all that Christine could hear now was her father's shouted protests as Prince Erik dragged him down the stairs. Slowly, she slid back to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Tears filled her eyes as the realization of what she had done seeped into her. She thought of her part in the upcoming opera, _Hannibal_. She thought of what Monsieur Lefèvre would think when she didn't show up. She thought of what La Carlotta would _say_ when she didn't show up… And she thought of Raoul. Sweet, sweet Raoul. The man she had intended to marry. The man who had intended to marry her.

And now they never would see that day. She had signed away her future to the Cruel Prince Erik, had given up any chance she had had of happiness or love. Christine would never see her sweet Raoul again; never again would she sit and talk with him, never again would they walk arm-in-arm through the town, never again would she hear him call her Little Lotte. Her time with Raoul had ended before it had had the chance to begin.

Christine clapped her hands to her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. She rocked back and forth softly crying, "Raoul… Oh Lord… Raoul… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Raoul…" She started gasping for breath as she cried harder, laying on the dusty ground and rolling onto her side.

As she lay sobbing, the door was thrown open again. Someone came and stood over her, and Christine knew by the way her heart raced that it was the prince. He was the only one that could make her feel as threatened as she did right now. Prince Erik grabbed her arm, gentler than before, and pulled her quickly to her feet. "I will show you to your quarters," he told her simply. He ignored the tears in her eyes and the way she sniffled, trying to catch her breath.

She had imagined that Erik was going to lead her into the cell, but, instead, he walked to the doorway. He stood off to the side, waiting for her to exit ahead of him. "You could have let us say goodbye," she whispered, not moving.

The prince sighed in frustration. "I let him go, I let him live. He's on his way to the village and will be back by morning. That should be enough for you. Now, are you coming or would you rather live here forever?"

"He's my father, and I'll never see him again. You didn't even let us say goodbye…" Christine hissed. "Everyone is right about you; you're a cruel monster."

A flash of anger passed over the unmasked side of the prince's face. "I don't think it should matter to you what the people say about me. They are no longer any concern of yours. This is your last chance; either follow me or stay here for the rest of your life."

Christine looked tearfully around the gloomy tower dungeon, then back at Prince Erik. He was watching her angrily, obviously still bothered by her comment. She took one last look at the cell her father had occupied and decided that if the prince was offering her better quarters, it would be best if she took it. So, bowing her head, Christine allowed Prince Erik to lead her from the room.


	5. Four

**Four**

Christine followed Prince Erik down the spiral staircase and two floors. On the second floor, he led her down a long hallway filled with more paintings and black carpeting. The prince stopped at the end of the hall in front of large, double doors made of black oak wood, same as the trees in the forest just beyond his castle gates. He pushed them open and let Christine through first. The room was nicer than she had been expecting. The walls were painted a deep purple, and the carpet was the same black as the carpet in the hallways. A large canopy bed was set back against the wall covered in blood red silk blankets and a huge wardrobe painted white was placed next to that. There was a nightstand on the other side of the bed and across the room was a writing desk. A large window facing the dark forest was cut into the wall on the side of the bed with the nightstand.

She glanced around the room with a distraught look in her eyes. The room was nice, of course, but it was still a prison in her mind, same as the tower dungeon. Dress it up however you like, Christine knew she was a prisoner here; she would never be allowed to leave, and if she did… Christine shuddered at the image of the Cruel Prince Erik sweeping down on her village, tearing it apart as he searched for his missing prisoner.

"Is this suitable?" the prince asked. She was surprised to hear no malice in his voice; it was almost as if he cared about Christine's comfort.

Stone-faced, she turned to look at the prince. Christine gazed right into his emerald eyes, barely seeing the mask. She would make it evident here and now that he did not intimidate her and she would not just willingly roll over and take any cruelty from him. "Does it matter?"

A flash of anger passed over his face once more, but it was soon replaced by nonchalance, much faster than the first time. He shrugged and responded, "I suppose not…" The prince paused for a moment before saying, "You have free rein in the castle and can go most anywhere you choose. The gardens, the libraries, the kitchens, the dining halls, the parlors, I don't really care. As long as you stay out of the western wings and away from the music room."

Christine felt herself involuntarily perk up. _A music room?_ But it was forbidden for her to go there… "May I ask why those areas in particular are off-limits?"

"Those reasons are mine and mine alone. You have no need of knowing why they are off limits, just know that they are." he stopped. "If you ever find yourself in those parts of the castle, just pray I do not see you there."

She looked away. So she wasn't allowed in the music room. Her spirits were crushed just after they had been risen. Music was the only thing she had left her father, and it seemed that the prince had taken even that from her. "Is there anything else?" she asked gruffly.

"The wardrobe is full of dresses. You can wear whichever you would like. If you need anything done, just ask one of the servants. Meg and Antoinette are usually the best to ask… Is there... anything else you need?" Christine remained silent. "Fine. Dinner's in an hour. If you don't join me, you don't eat. Simple as that."

Without another word, Prince Erik turned and left, closing the door behind him. The moment he was gone, Christine ran to the door, trying the knob. It was still unlocked. He seemed to know that she wasn't going anywhere. It was a miracle, she realized, that she had gotten through the forest safely the first time. Traversing it a second time without someone to protect her… That would be beyond dangerous, and immensely stupid.

Christine turned to the bed and ran to it, throwing herself on it. She screamed into the pillows as loud, hard, and long as she could as thoughts of her father and Raoul filled her mind once more. People she would never see or hold again. The image of Raoul floated up to the surface of her brain. She could see him as he would have been when he returned to her cottage and found her gone. He would have been confused, possibly a bit angry, and worried. Would he search for her? And for how long? Would he even begin to guess at where she had gone or the mess she had gotten herself into? How she wished she had listened to him and just waited. They could have gone together, and he would have protected her from Prince Erik. She thought of how happy she had been, just a few hours before, when she had been sitting with Raoul at her table… She supposed she would never see her cottage again, either.

She was ready to let the tears flow freely when there was a sharp knock at the door. "Go away!" Christine screamed without looking up from her pillow. Whoever was there didn't listen, as they pushed the door open away, closing it loudly behind them.

"That won't win you any battles, dear," an old, strict voice told her.

Sniffling, Christine sat up and saw that a woman much older than even her father had entered the room. She had beautiful, graying brown hair that fell past her waist tied in a tight braid. She was wearing the black-and-white outfit of a servant. "Who are you?" Christine hissed coldly.

"I am Antoinette," the woman said with a small curtsy. "I am the head of the prince's servant staff. My daughter, Meg, and I have been charged with looking after you." Christine turned her back on Antoinette. "Ignoring me won't make me go away, dear, and it certainly won't improve your situation. If I were you, I would make as many friends as you could. It will help you in the long run."

"You work for him."

"Not necessarily by choice, not anymore, at least. If I could have, I would have left him six years ago after the fire. He's become so cruel since that day… Erik wasn't always like this. He was once so full of life and joy and music… Now we have lost him. He doesn't laugh or smile…he doesn't sing... No one in the palace is allowed to do that anymore. He can't stand the sound of music, and has forbidden anyone from making it..." Antoinette stopped speaking, as if she realized how much she had said. "Forgive me, my dear. I don't mean to ramble. Now, we should probably dress you for dinner…"

 _He's_ forbidden _music? How can someone_ forbid _something so beautiful, something so pure and joyful_ _?_ She thought sullenly. "I'm not going to dinner," Christine told Antoinette sharply, trying to shake that ugly thought from her head.

Christine turned when she heard the wardrobe thrown open. "Of course you are. Starving yourself isn't going to fix any of this, either." Antoinette flipped through the dress, pulling out ones she thought looked nice. "If you want my advice, you should make the best of this. You have been put in a terrible situation, I understand that. But being negative towards those that want to help you or putting your own life in danger is not the answer."

The advice Antoinette gave her made sense, and was logical. But Christine was still furious with the prince and heartbroken over losing everything that she held dear. She refused to see the logic in what the elderly woman was saying. "No one asked for your advice," she hissed.

Antoinette put down the dress she had been examining and turned her eyes towards Christine. "You know, you are the first person he has ever shown this mercy towards, my dear. Even women who stumbled into his palace were put in that horrid tower until they rotted away. Never before has he released a prisoner, and never before has he allowed one to stay in a nice room or receive food off of his table. You are extraordinarily lucky and should be grateful; take advantage of these great gifts you have been given."

"I don't care about any of that, and I don't want any of _his_ gifts." Christine refused to even say the name of the man who had ruined her future.

With a sigh, Antoinette handed Christine a white gown embroidered with gold. "Yes, he always liked this one…" she said as she passed it off. "Dress now, my dear, and hurry out. I'll lead you to the dining hall."

"I'm not going to eat with him!" Christine called after the woman as she exited the room. "And you can't force me to!"

The door closed and Christine was alone once more. Furious, Christine threw the dress down on the bed. There was no way she was going to do anything if it involved her being alone with the prince. He had taken everything from her, hadn't even let her say goodbye to the life she was leaving behind. She hated him, and she hated Antoinette and whoever this Meg person was.

Glaring at the dress, Christine swept it off the bed. She went to the door and saw that it actually locked from the inside. Christine turned the lock before running back to the bed and throwing herself underneath the covers. She lay there in silence for a few moments before she heard another knock at the door. "My dear, please come out. It will be better for everyone if you just do as the master commands." Christine remained silent, glaring at the wall across the room. "If you don't come down, you won't get to eat. The master will make good on that promise!" Still, Christine refused to respond. After another minute of silence, she heard Antoinette sigh. "Have it your way. I will inform that prince that you will not be joining him."

As the woman's footsteps retreated from the door, Christine felt a tear trace its way down her face and off the tip of her nose. Perhaps she could starve herself and end this torment… With the thought of Raoul and her father still bouncing around her head, Christine closed her eyes and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Prince Erik sat at his dining room table; a long block of black oak wood with chairs lining either side. Those chairs were always empty, but tonight, he intended to have one of them filled. The girl would come down to dine with him if she ever wanted to eat again. The prince drummed his fingers on the table as he watched the door, waiting for Antoinette and the girl to arrive.

Standing across the room beside the door were his two most...entertaining male servants, Gilles André and Richard Firmin. André was a short, gray, mousy man, and was much older than the prince he served. He was balding, and what hair he had left was the same color as fresh snowfall. The majority of his hair covered the back of his head, and it had a frizzy, uncontrollable appearance. He had a small beard and an elegant mustache. The other man, Firmin, was much taller and had a much more cheerful air about him. Unlike André, Firmin still had a full head of deep brown hair, though his sideburns were a peppery gray and he had large streaks of gray throughout the brown that topped his head. Firmin had no beard, but he did have a full and proud mustache the same color as his hair, the edges tipped with the same gray his sideburns boasted. Both men wore black coats with short tails over white shirts, black pants, and black riding boots. They stood at the ready, prepared to move when the prince called for them.

Behind him, at his left shoulder, stood the daughter of Erik's closest servant, Meg Giry. Her blonde hair caught the torchlight and glistened like strands of gold, but her eyes were downcast, red and puffy from crying. She knew that she had been the one that caused the imprisonment of the man whom the girl had replaced. Meg knew the rules; if someone came to the palace door, they were to be turned away. If Erik caught them inside, they were locked in the tower forever. Despite her knowing this, she had allowed the man into the castle. Erik still hadn't quite forgiven her for this offense, and he knew she hadn't quite forgiven herself.

As the minutes ticked by, Erik grew impatient. He wasn't used to being kept waiting; this girl was trying his patience. Erik thought of that girl now, and how much she resembled _her_. His angel. His truest and only love. His Emmeline.

This girl that was in his castle now looked exactly like her. Everything about her, down to the way she walked, was the same as his Emmeline. She was so much like his love that, when he had first seen her, he had mistaken this girl for the woman he had loved and lost in the span of one night. It took only a few moments to realize that it was not who he had first imagined, and he had been ready to imprison her along with her father. But, as he stood and looked down upon her, Erik had found himself unable to do something that cruel to her. This girl was too much like Emmeline.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted as the door to the dining hall was pushed open. Antoinette entered the room; alone. Once more, Erik felt an annoyed anger fill his chest. This girl was being so stubborn, almost to the point of being impossible. "Well?" he shouted as Antoinette crossed the room. "Where is she?"

"I'm afraid, my prince, that she is not coming," Antoinette told him simply. She had never been afraid of him, and never sugarcoated anything; it was always straight to the point. The prince respected this, and preferred it to her beating around the bush.

He put his face in his hands, grunting in frustration. "I told her that if she didn't come, she didn't eat. Was that not motivation enough for her?"

"Perhaps, Prince Erik, if you had let her say goodbye to her father instead of just shipping him off, she would have agreed to come to eat with you."

Erik glared up at Antoinette. Perhaps her being so straightforward wasn't always a good thing... She was the only one of his servants who dared to speak to him in such a way, and she was the only one of his servants who could get away with it. Antoinette had been with him since he was born, and had been the one that had pulled him from the burning west wing. Although Erik wished nothing more than that he had died that day along with his Emmeline, he owed Antoinette a life debt. And he was paying it off by not sending her away or having her executed.

"It might suit both of your needs better if you tried to be kinder to the poor girl."

"I've given her the nicest room in the castle! All of the dresses she could possibly want!"

"This goes beyond, that, my prince," Antoinette sighed. "The girl has lost everything she's ever known. Her father, her friends, her home, her freedom. She gave all of that up to save the life of another and right now, what she needs isn't a nice room or a new dress."

"What do you suppose I should do?" he growled in response.

"Perhaps the prince could go and speak to the girl?" André suggested timidly, moving a step closer to the table.

"Yes, try asking her kindly to come and join you, instead of ordering her," Firmin continued, his voice bubbly.

 _André and Firmin, my dynamic duo._ Erik thought in annoyance. It was true that you never saw one without the other, and they were usually completing each other's trains of thought. At first it had been entertaining, but now it was more annoying than anything. "If I want your opinions, I'll ask for them," Erik hissed.

"Pardons," Firmin bowed before he and André returned to their posts.

"They have a point, Prince Erik," Antoinette told him gently. "Instead of demanding the girl to join you, you should speak kindly to her. Ask her to join you, tell her that you want her to be as happy and comfortable as she can be while she's here. Be kind to her."

Erik stared at Antoinette for a while before sighing. He pushed back his chair and climbed to his feet, still watching the old servant standing before him. "I will try it your way."

"Be patient with her, Prince, and...make the attempt to control your temper. Remember everything that she has lost today; she's bound to be irritable."

Sighing, Erik walked along the table and out the doors, which André and Firmin opened for him. He could feel Antoinette watching him until the doors closed as he started up the stairs to the second floor. He went straight for the girl's room, stopping in front of the closed doors. He gave another sigh before gently knocking. There was no response from inside. Closing his eyes, he tried the knob, only to discover that she had locked the door. He bit the inside of his cheek as he took the castle master key from the front pocket of his suit jacket. Erik pushed the key into the lock, turned it, and lightly tapped the door open.

* * *

Christine heard the key in the lock, and moments later, the door creaking open. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, she willed herself to fall back to sleep, not wanting to speak to anyone. The sound of footsteps approaching the bed echoed loudly in her eardrums; she already recognized the owner of those footsteps to be Prince Erik. He was the last person she wanted to be speaking to right now. Christine steadied her breathing, hoping she could trick him into thinking that she was still asleep.

She felt the bed sag as the prince sat down on the edge of it and she heard him sigh loudly. "I suppose you know by now that I am not very good at dealing with people."

"You don't say," Christine heard herself reply. She had wanted to fool the prince, but she had been unable to restrain herself from responding to his statement. In frustration, Christine opened her eyes and sat up, resting against the backboard of the bed. She glared up at him, feeling a flash of curiosity when she saw that his face did not seem as cold and distant as it had before. "What do you want?" Christine maintained her angry and distant position. She was still furious with the prince, and wasn't ready to give into him and his impossible mood swings.

"I wanted to talk." He shifted so he was looking directly into Christine's eyes. Now that his emerald gaze was softer, the prince seemed like a gentler man. Almost as if he hadn't locked her father in a cell and forced her to trade places with him. "I know we got off on the wrong foot earlier…"

Christine laughed at this. "That's a bit of an understatement."

She expected him to get angry at this, but he seemed to just shrug it off and continued. "And I realize that I have been…unfair. I put you in a bad situation, and I didn't let you say goodbye to your father and I…I…" he seemed to struggle with this. Christine knew what he wanted to say, but she needed to hear him say it.

"It starts with an 'a'," she told him coldly.

The prince gritted his teeth and hissed, "I apologize."

There was an awkwardly long silence between the two as Christine turned over his apology in her head. A part of her was whispering that this was just an act by the prince, and that he wasn't being entirely sincere. If he was really sorry, Christine was thinking, he would tell her she could go home. But that wasn't going to happen, and they both knew it. She didn't respond.

"I suppose…" the prince went on slowly, "that you have me at a bit of a disadvantage."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know my name, but I do not seem to know yours."

Christine let out an angry laugh. The prince seemed slightly taken aback by her response. "My father comes to you for help and you lock him in a cell. I come to free him from that injustice and you force me to be your prisoner in place of his. He was sick, and possibly dying, but you don't care. All you care about is having your prisoner. So you force me to remain here, don't let me say goodbye to my father, demand I eat dinner with you or starve, and you are just now thinking to ask me for my name?!" Her voice had taken on a tone she had never used before. It had gone past cold and was now pure hatred.

The prince was watching her with wide, shocked eyes. He obviously hadn't expected that reaction from her. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been something this openly hostile. "I've already apologized…"

"Empty words," Christine spat. "If you were truly sorry, you would let me go home. But you're not going to do that, are you? Because for some reason, in your twisted mind, you need a prisoner. You need someone to be here under your control." She turned her back on him. "You're pathetic."

For a moment, the two sat in silence. Then, the prince stood. The bed creaked as the extra burden was removed. "Alright then. I came in here trying to start over, but you seem content to live in the past. Fine, girl, live in the past, ignore the present, don't acknowledge the future. You can come down to eat with me or you can stay up here and starve for all I care." Erik turned and went for the door. "Just remember later that I did try to be kind to you."

He left the room, closing the door behind him. Christine turned to look at where he had been sitting, then climbed to her feet and went to the door. She pressed her ear to the crack and heard that the prince was still out there, now arguing with someone new.

"You should have tried harder!" Antoinette's voice rang.

"What would you have me do, Antoinette? I can only go so far! She also needs to try, and she's not willing to do that!" Erik was whining in response.

"She isn't willing to do that _yet_ ," Antoinette responded. "Please remember what she's been through today. I'm begging you. Give her time; she'll eventually come around, you know she will. Just don't give up on her yet."

The voices faded as the pair walked back down the stairwell. Christine turned and pressed her back to the door, sliding to the ground. Trying to ignore her growling stomach, she buried her knees in her head and whispered, "I will _never_ come around."


	6. Five

**Five**

Several hours later, Christine awoke once more, still sitting with her back pressed against the door. She was stiff from having slept in such an uncomfortable position for so long, and, though she had pretty much slept the day away, still felt tired from all of the tears that had been shed in such a short amount of time. Looking out the window that was beside her bed, she saw that the sky was pitch black; it must have been very late. Slowly climbing to her feet, Christine turned to the bed, ready to fall into it, when a loud rumbling from her stomach made her realize how hungry she was, and how long it had been since she had last eaten.

The prince had told her that if she refused to eat with him then she would not eat at all. She knew that he would hold to that promise, especially after the way she had spoken to him when he had come to see her. Thinking back on it, she found herself flinching. Her father had raised her better than that. He had always told her that, no matter what she thought of a person, she was to be kind and courteous to all. If he ever learned of how she had spoken to the prince… Would he be ashamed, or would he understand?

Christine knew that she could not ignore the growling in her stomach, and decided to see if she could find something to eat without the prince finding out about it. She slowly approached her door and drew it open. The hallway outside was quite dark, but the torches that lined the walls were still crackling brightly, lighting the way. Stepping outside of her room, Christine slowly started across the hall and down the stairs. She followed the torches hanging on the walls until she reached a door she thought might lead to a kitchen. Gently, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

She jumped when she realized that the room was already occupied, but relaxed when she saw that it was not the prince. This was a girl about her age with blonde hair waterfalling down her back. The girl had seen Christine come in and gave her a small smile. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," the girl bowed. Christine could tell that, though she smiled, this girl was very upset. Her eyes were red, and it looked as if she had been crying recently.

"Who are you?" Christine asked, eyeing the maid's dress the girl wore cautiously.

"My name is Meg Giry," the girl responded quickly. Her smile faded and she came towards Christine, taking one of her hands in both of hers. "I want to tell you how very, very sorry I am."

Christine's eyes narrowed as she questioned, "What are you talking about?"

"It was I who let your father into the palace. If I had just turned him away like I was supposed to, then you wouldn't be stuck here like you are…" Meg told her quietly. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle." So this was why the girl looked like she had been crying... She blamed herself for the situation Christine had ended up in.

"You have done nothing that needs forgiving, Meg," Christine told her gently. She placed her free hand on the poor girl's cheek. "You did only what every other kind soul would; you saw a sick man in need of assistance, and you offered to help him. The only person at fault for what is happening is the prince himself. And…please… Call me Christine."

Meg looked at her with eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Christine, you must be the kindest person I've ever met. I don't know many who would forgive me as easily as you have…" The young girl was cut off by the loud growling in Christine's stomach. Embarrassed, Christine took her hands back and pressed them to her abdomen, trying to silence the sounds. Meg laughed gently, covering her mouth with her hands. "You must be so hungry! Come to the kitchen and let's get you something to eat."

"I really shouldn't," Christine called as Meg took her hand, trying to lead her from the room. Her fear of the prince began to overpower her desire for food. "The prince said that if I don't eat with him, I don't eat. And I didn't eat with him, so I'm not allowed to have food tonight…"

"If you're worried you'll get into trouble…"

"No, I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you. How much trouble would you be in if you did this?"

Meg gave Christine another small smile. "No more than I already am in for allowing your father to come into the castle."

With that, Meg took Christine's hand once more and led her from the room. She took her down a new hallway, stopping in front of one of the doors. Meg pushed the door open and pulled Christine inside.

She found herself in a large, warm kitchen, made of the same black stone as the rest of the castle. The floor was wood and counters covered almost every inch of it. Where there weren't counters, there were stoves and sinks. For such a large kitchen, there were only two people staffing it; a short, elderly gentlemen with a balding head and a tall, younger-looking gentlemen with a full head of brown hair. They both turned when they heard the door open.

When the small man saw her, his eyes widened with fear and he breathed in sharply. When the taller man saw her, he smiled brightly, crossed the room, and took one of her hands in his. "It is a pleasure to see you at last, Mademoiselle!" he said cheerfully, still wearing his large smile. "We were wondering if you were ever going to leave your room!"

"What is she doing in here?" the small man hissed, coming to stand next to the taller man. "You _know_ what the master said, Meg! If she did not eat with him…"

"I'm aware of what the prince told us, André," Meg responded sharply. "But I am not willing to let her starve." She turned to the tall man and asked kindly, "Firmin, could you prepare something for our guest?"

"It would be my honor!" Firmin bowed to both Meg and Christine, then turned to start making her something to eat.

"Are you insane?!" André called. "If the master finds out what we are doing, he'll have all of our heads! Do you want to spend the rest of your days in a cell, or worse…dead?"

He went to stand next to Firmin and started whispering furiously in his ear. Christine had a feeling she knew what he was trying to tell Firmin. He must have been trying to convince him that helping Christine was bad for his health, and his future. Christine already didn't like André very much; he was too worried about protecting only himself. As if reading her thoughts, Meg said, "Don't let him bother you too much. He'd do anything to save his own skin, even turn his own mother over to the prince."

Behind them, the door opened. Christine stiffened, fearing that the prince had heard the noise and come to investigate its source. Turning, Christine let out a sigh. It was only Antoinette who stood with her arms crossed. "It is nice of you to leave your room, my dear."

Christine blushed. As she thought back on it now, she realized she had been unnecessarily cruel to Antoinette. The elderly servant was only trying to help her, and had been very kind despite how Christine had been acting. She bowed her head and said, "I am sorry for how I behaved earlier."

"As far as I am concerned my dear, you have nothing to apologize for." Antoinette crossed to stand in front of Christine and placed her hand under Christine's chin. Gently, she lifted her face so the two were looking eye-to-eye. "I can only imagine how you must be feeling, how you must have felt. You were not entirely responsible for your actions."

"Thank you, Madame."

Antoinette laughed. "I am not a Madame, my dear. That title is reserved for people of higher stations. I am simply Antoinette… Perhaps I could get your name now that we are on speaking terms?"

"Christine Daaé."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Christine Daaé," Antoinette smiled.

From behind them, Firmin cleared his throat. Christine turned and saw that Firmin had prepared three different courses. André was muttering furiously, glaring at Firmin and the three trays he had created. "You didn't need to do all of this!" Christine cried with a smile.

Firmin gave a deep bow. "It was my pleasure, Mademoiselle."

Christine crossed to the counter where the three dishes were waiting. The first was the appetizer; a thick, bright orange tomato soup with slices of bread for dipping. On the second plate was the main meal; a small, golden leg of chicken coated in an herbal spice sauce. Sitting on the third plate was a large piece of pure, chocolate cake. He had made a full, three-meal course for her.

"All she needed was bread and some water; that was all we had to do. If the master were to come down…" André growled.

"Be quiet," Firmin told him shortly. "We're not going to let the poor dear starve. And bread and water does not a meal make for a young, growing woman."

"If he comes down and sees what we've done, he'll kill us all. Don't you understand that?! We went against his wishes!"

"Peace, André," Antoinette told him. Her eyes rested on Christine as the young girl started to eat her three course meal. "I don't think the prince would hurt her, and I don't think he actually wants her to go hungry."

"I'm not talking about her, I' talking about _us_! So what if the master won't hurt her? That same privilege doesn't apply to us servants! Besides, if the prince didn't want her to go hungry," André asked, "then why did he give the order?"

"I think he's confused. He doesn't know what he wants right now."

Christine had finished the soup and had started on the leg of chicken. "This is wonderful, Firmin," she said when her mouth was empty. "I've never met a man who could cook like this."

"Well, the prince needed someone who could cook, and no one else was willing to learn. Besides, being able to serve the prince and live in a warm castle is better than not being able to serve him and being cast out in the cold! I do appreciate the compliment, though, Mademoiselle."

Firmin watched her happily as she moved onto the cake. This was the fastest Christine had ever eaten, but it was also the hungriest she had ever been. She had spent all day crying and hadn't eaten anything since the night before. In only a matter of moments, she had polished off the cake, as well.

"That was wonderful; thank you."

"Perhaps the Mademoiselle would like a tour of some of the palace now?" Firmin offered with a large smile.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" André interjected. "She needs to go straight back to her room! If the master…"

"The master," Christine interrupted coldly, "said I had free reign of the castle. I can go anywhere I choose. I do not have to stay in my room; I can go to any room in this palace that I choose." She turned swiftly to Firmin. "I would love to have a look around the castle, thank you."

"What would you like to see first?" Firmin took her arm and led her from the kitchen. "Do you like to read? We have several libraries. Or perhaps dancing is more your style; if so, there are dozens of ballrooms we could visit."

"You know what I really love?" Christine told him. He shook his head in response. "I really love music." Prince Erik's remark about the music room had been haunting Christine during her waking hours. She really, really wanted to see it and maybe sneak in a bit of practice. And now that she had someone willing to show her around the castle... What a better opportunity to locate this secret, off limits room.

But, instead of agreeing, Firmin stopped and dropped her arm. "Um…" he hesitated. "There is…uh…no music allowed in the castle...by the...master's orders."

Christine remembered that Antoinette had told her that Prince Erik had forbidden music. She had found that appalling, and confusing. Music brought nothing but joy and brightness to a home, and if there was anything this castle needed more of, it was brightness and joy. Hoping to get more of the story from Firmin, Christine asked, "Why would he order something like that?"

"Well, I don't really know," Firmin responded honestly. "I just know that, for six years, there hasn't been music in this palace. The prince abhors it… Though, back before the fire, there was nothing he loved more than the arts. He loved it so much so, his parents had a private music room built into the palace in the west wing… Antoinette told me he used to make such lovely music…"

"Where is this music room?"

"Oh, I've never seen it." Her guide shook his head. "I just know its somewhere beyond the ballroom in the west wing, where the fire started. It was one of the rooms that was destroyed in the fire…" His voice became distance before fading into silence. Somewhere in the castle, a clock chimed twice. Firmin was shocked out of his thoughts and looked around, almost confused. His eyes widened as he realized how much her had actually said. "Oh, I…I didn't realize how late it was getting… Perhaps André is right… You should return to bed," he stammered.

Christine could sense she had lost her guide. She had prodded too deeply into the private matters of the prince and his castle. Not wanting to be a bother to him, and not wanting to lose one of the few friends she was gaining so quickly, Christine said, "Thank you again for the meal, Firmin. I appreciate it." She turned her back on him and started down the hall and back up the stairs. When she got back to her room, she closed the door, leaving it unlocked this time. There was no reason for her to lock it if the person she most wanted to keep out was able to get in anyway.

Lying on the bed, Christine found her thoughts wandering to the mysterious music room. _Jut beyond the ballroom in the west wing... One of the rooms that was destroyed in the fire..._ Christine thought. She closed her eyes, trying to picture what it must look like. The more she thought it about it, the more curious she became. Soon, she knew that she would have to find this music room, to look in it just once. Perhaps she would find the time tomorrow…


	7. Six

**Six**

Raoul sat at the wooden table in the Daaé's kitchen, his fingers drumming into the tabletop rhythmically. He looked anxiously at the clock ticking away the minutes hanging on their wall, and felt his heart lurch every time the large hand progressed towards the fifth minute interval. Christine had been gone for serval hours, and so had the men his father had taken in search of her and her father. Raoul had had no desire to go with them, and his father allowed him to stay at the cottage, telling him he needed someone to remain here in case one or both of them returned.

After Christine had told him Gustave might be in trouble, Raoul had gone straight to his home where he informed his father. Philbert de Chagny had gathered together a few men from the city and they had returned to the small cottage at the edge of the town. It was then that they discovered that Christine, along with the horse that had alerted her to the trouble, were both missing. Raoul had been frustrated at first, irritated that she hadn't listened to him when he told her to stay put, but as he went through the house and farm searching for her – in case she was just playing some stupid joke – fear had set in. Where had his Little Lottie gotten off to? Was she safe? Did she get hurt?

The men searched the cottage and farmyard thoroughly, turning up no sign of Gustave or Christine. They had both gone missing. But where? One of the men, an excellent tracker, investigated the drive up to the house where he found horse hooves headed off into the village. Philbert took a moment to plan what they were going to do next. The whole group would go into the village, then would branch off into two separate groups. One group would search the village from top to bottom, the other would go with him to the forest that surrounded the hill the prince lived on. It didn't seem likely that that was where Gustave and Christine had gotten to, but it was best if they covered all of their bases.

Philbert had ordered Raoul to stay at the cottage. "We need someone here," he had told his son, "just in case they come back." Raoul, now beyond worried, could only nod in response. His father had put his hands on Raoul's shoulders and told him, "I know how important this girl is to you, son, and I want you to know that we will do everything in our power to see her safely returned."

"I know," Raoul had responded. He had watched his father and the group ride off as fast as they could, headed for the village. That had been nearly six hours ago.

Now, the sky outside was dark, and midnight was swiftly approaching. None of the men had returned to the cottage, and no word had reached Raoul as to how their search was going. His imagination had run away with him, and Raoul had seen images of Christine's body lying mangled and broken somewhere, her life brutally taken from her. He had seen her attacked by bandits or wolves, fallen off a horse with her neck broken, lost and starving somewhere far from his reach, from his help… Raoul had shed many tears of fear that night, wishing that he hadn't left her alone when he went to find help earlier that day.

Raoul buried his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his palms so hard, stars and swirls danced across his vision. He sighed, wishing he could be of more use to his father, that he could offer more assistance to his missing love. Only a few hours before he had been hinting at proposing to her, and she had been delighted at the prospect. But now…now that might never happen. She was missing, possibly dead or dying, and there was nothing Raoul could do to help her. Never before had he felt so useless.

He climbed to his feet and started to pace, wanting to be doing something other than sitting and thinking. Raoul knew he needed to find a way to distract his tired and distraught mind, but he had no idea of what would be useful. He had already taken care of the farm animals, feeding them throughout the day and putting them back in their pens as night closed in. Raoul had organized some of the dirtier rooms of the home, though there weren't many; Christine took good care of this house, never letting dirt, grime, or disorganization invade for very long. He had made himself food whenever he grew hungry, had read some of the books the Daaé's kept on their shelves…he had done everything except for sleep. And, though sleep was the one thing her really needed now, it was the one thing he couldn't have. If someone came back, he needed to be awake and ready to receive them.

How long he paced, he wasn't sure. He had stopped watching the clock. But his pacing was interrupted by the sound of the door being thrown open, and footsteps approaching the kitchen. Raoul stopped and looked to face the hallway, holding his breath. He released it the moment he recognized Philbert's large outline filling the door frame. "Any luck?" Raoul asked breathlessly.

Philbert sighed, coming into the room and collapsing into one of the chairs. "You should sit down, Raoul," he said in response. Not liking this, Raoul did as his father told him. Philbert sighed again before saying, "She is not anywhere in the village. My men tore it apart, looking everywhere she would be and everywhere she'd never go. There was no sign of her anywhere." Raoul swallowed, knowing that that could mean only one thing. "Geoffroy was able to pick up her trail though, and…it did lead into the forest."

"No." Was all Raoul could manage.

"We were able to follow it for a ways; she ran the horse hard and it left a distinctive trail. Christine was definitely looking for signs of her father, and definitely found one." Philbert hesitated, not sure how to continue. He heaved another large sigh before going on, "We found Gustave's wagon. It was tipped on its side, and looked as if it had been gone through. His clothes were everywhere, his money was gone, and his violin was destroyed."

Raoul forgot how to breathe. Gustave had run into bandits? That was the only explanation. If Christine stumbled upon that, she may have stumbled upon the bandits in the act. Raoul felt cold dread drip down his spine as he thought of what they would have done to her, a woman alone in the forest, when they saw her. Philbert was silent for a while longer, waiting for Raoul to process what he had told him. Finally, he went on. "There is some good news, though. We didn't see any blood or bodies, and no sign of anyone getting seriously injured. Whatever happened to Gustave or Christine at the wagon, they both survived it, and we believe they both walked away from it."

"You don't know that for sure, though?" Raoul questioned, feeling a bit of hope fill him at this. Whatever had happened when Christine came upon the wagon, she had made it through it. But that didn't mean the bandits hadn't taken her.

"Not for sure, no," Philbert responded sadly. "I'm sorry, Raoul. We looked for a good while longer, but there was no more sign of her. The trail died off a few yards after the wagon scene. Wherever she went, we can't track her anymore."

Angrily, Raoul shouted, "So she's on her own in the forest somewhere? And you didn't stay to keep looking for her?!"

"Calm down, Raoul," Philbert said menacingly. He didn't raise his voice; he never raised his voice. Whenever Philbert was angry or frustrated, he merely dropped his tone and spoke in a soft, menacing voice. It always worked, and now was no different. Raoul stopped talking and let his father speak. "There was nothing more we could do by that point. Even Geoffroy wasn't able to do anything, and he's the best tracker in the village. We're going to take up the hunt again tomorrow, but for now, it's too late and too dark to do anything."

Raoul sat back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. Christine was still out in that forest somewhere, alone. She was small, and wasn't capable of protecting herself. If wolves or bandits found her… There was no way she could survive a night out in that wretched place alone. Raoul climbed to his feet.

"Where do you think you are going?" Philbert asked.

"I'm going to look for her."

"Raoul, haven't you been listening? The forest is too thick. Even on a clear morning it would be hard to see where you are going. It's nearly impossible to see anything now. You're of no use to her out there wandering aimlessly in the dark! The best you could hope for is a horse with a broken leg if you go out now."

"I don't care," Raoul responded. "She's out there somewhere, alone, and she can't defend herself. I will not leave her to the mercy of the dangers in the forest." He grabbed his jacket on the counter and exited the kitchen. He could hear Philbert following him.

"You're going to get yourself killed doing this. You can't protect her, you can't find her, you can't marry her if you're dead!"

"And I can do none of those things if _she_ is dead," Raoul told him matter-of-factly. "I am going after her, and I _will_ find her. With or without your help or blessing." Raoul had reached the front door. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. He turned to face his father. "You know you can't stop me."

"Please, Raoul, just listen to me for a moment! You can't…" Philbert paused. Raoul heard him take in a sharp breath. "Gustave," he whispered.

Eyes wide, Raoul whipped around. It was true. Coming up the walk, staggering and barely standing, was Gustave Daaé. Raoul threw his coat to the ground and ran out to meet the struggling man. The moment he reached Gustave, he wrapped one arm around his shoulders; the other he placed in front across the man's chest. "Lean on me, Monsieur," Raoul told him softly. He led Gustave quickly up the walk, through the door, and into the house. Philbert hadn't moved from inside the doorway, but closed the door once Gustave and Raoul were inside and followed them into the dining room.

Raoul helped Gustave sit in one of the chairs as Philbert rushed through the kitchen, trying to find ingredients for tea. Gustave was pale, paler than Raoul had ever seen him, and his hair looked three shades grayer than the last time he had seen the musician. His eyes were wide with fright and his face was lined with age. He was shaking terribly, felt cold to the touch, and was having a hard time breathing. Raoul turned and ran to the room down the hall, finding a blanket on the bed. Grabbing it, he raced back into the kitchen and wrapped the warm quilt around Gustave's shoulders. "Here," he said.

"Thank…you…Raoul…" Gustave panted. As he wrapped the blanket around himself, Raoul saw that there were rope burns on his wrists. His heart leapt into his throat as he wondered what that could mean. "I am…so glad you're…both here…" He gasped for breath as Philbert brought him a cup of warm tea. "She…needs your…help… She's in…danger."

It felt like Raoul's heart had stopped beating as the room fell into a heavy silence. There was only one "she" that Gustave could be referring to. "Tell us what happened," Philbert spoke, breaking the silence first.

"I got…lost." Gustave took a sip of tea. "I ended up…in Prince Erik's…woods… I was…attacked…by…bandits… Bayard…helped me…escape…but…I needed…help…" Once again, Gustave started gasping for breath.

"You need a doctor," Philbert interrupted. "Let me fetch one…"

He turned to leave, but Gustave gripped his wrist. "No! Christine…is in…trouble…"

"What's happened to her?" Raoul asked, his voice barely a whisper as he knelt in front of Gustave.

Gustave looked at Raoul for the first true time, pity and sorrow filling his gaze. "I'm…sorry…Raoul…but… I went…for help…and wound up…in…the prince's…castle… He threw…me in…a cell… I don't…know how long…I was there for…but eventually…Christine…came… She tried…to free…me…but…the prince…found her…"

Raoul closed his eyes as the cold dread returned. Christine had been caught in the palace by the Cruel Prince Erik? No one who ever went into that palace was ever seen again. If this was true, if Prince Erik really did have Christine as his prisoner, than Raoul knew he would never see his Little Lottie again. He felt Philbert's hand on his shoulder. "Go on, Gustave." He could sense the man's story was not quite finished.

"He gave…her a…choice… Either…I stayed…and she left…or I left…and she…stayed…"

Since Gustave was sitting right here, it was easy to know which option Christine had chosen. Raoul felt his heart break in half. "I tired…" Gustave went on, "to convince her…to leave but…she…was…so stubborn…" He gave a tearful laugh. "My Christine…my Angel… I've lost her…to that…demon…we call…prince…"

Slowly, Raoul climbed to his feet. Christine was the prince's prisoner. She was trapped in his castle, locked away in his tower, and he would never see her again. Leaving his coat behind, Raoul walked slowly away from the kitchen and out of the house. He looked up at the inky black sky and felt tears trace their way down his face. "Why didn't you wait for me, Christine?" he whispered. If she had just waited, they could have gone after Gustave together. He would have protected her from the prince, found some way to get her away from him while also having her father freed. Why couldn't she have been a bit more patient? He hadn't even been gone ten minutes!

Philbert came out of the house and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "I am so, so sorry, Raoul," he whispered delicately.

"Is there any way…?"

"No," Philbert responded. His own voice was choked with tears. He had always liked Christine; she was a sweet, genuine girl, and would have made a wonderful addition to the de Chagny family. That, and he knew how happy she made Raoul, and how much he loved her. Seeing his son now, heartbroken from a lost love taken from him so soon, made Philbert's heart ache. "Even I am not powerful enough to stand up to the prince."

"She's gone then…forever… I'll never see her again."

Philbert sighed, wishing there was some way he could give Raoul hope. He wished it was possible for him to say that there was still a chance; that Christine could, one day, be returned to him. But Philbert knew about Prince Erik; he knew what the prince was like. Christine would not be returning to the village. She would never be leaving the palace. If Raoul was younger, Philbert _would_ have lied to him, but now that he was older, there was no point in giving him false hope.

"No, I don't suppose you will," he told Raoul.

Raoul bit his lips together and brushed the tears off his face. He stood up straighter and cleared his throat, attempting to put on a strong face. "I'll stay and look after Gustave tonight. If he gets worse, I'll send for a doctor."

"Thank you, Raoul." Philbert started down the walkway. He turned back and gave a final remark, "Try to get some rest. It'll be good for you."

Once Philbert was gone, Raoul reentered the house, heading to the kitchen where Gustave sat. He wrapped his arms around him and helped the older man up. Raoul walked him down the hallway and into his room, where he laid him down. Before he could turn to leave, Gustave called, "Raoul?"

Quickly, Raoul turned to face him. "What is it, Gustave?"

"You…love…Christine…yes?" he gasped.

"Yes," he nodded, fighting back the tears that choked his voice. "I love her more than anything."

"And you…intend…to marry…her?"

It hadn't escaped Raoul's notice that Gustave talked of Christine like she was going to be walking through the door at any moment. That almost made it harder for him to face the reality that she wouldn't be coming back, but he wanted to humor Gustave. He was ill, and could be dying. The least Raoul could do was grant him his unspoken wish.

"I do intend to marry her," Raoul said, forcing a smile. "And it will be the most glorious wedding this village has ever seen."

"Good…" Gustave responded, fading off to sleep. "I want…the best for…her… And you…are…the best…Raoul…"

Raoul left Gustave's room, shutting the door behind him. He stood outside the door, and slid to the ground, resting his head against it. Once more, tears found their way down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Christine…"


	8. Seven

**Author's Note:** SURPRISE! I know, it's been forever and a half since my last update and I am SOOOOOOOOOOO sorry! There has been a ton going on, and just to catch you guys up, here's the jist of it: I got into the musical at my school and was super busy with that from January to April. Then, the next thing I knew, I had graduated high school in May which was intensely emotional. Then I had several health issues that I needed to be looked at right away that kept me quite preoccupied. And then I had my college freshman orientation just this last weekend. So...crazy! But I am back! This chapter has actually been in the works for months and I'm glad it's finally done for you guys! Thanks for staying with me through my absence and I hope you enjoy!

I own nothing from either Phantom of the Opera nor Beauty and the Beast. ~Shella the Dovahkiin

* * *

 **Seven**

Despite feeling beyond exhausted, Christine found herself unable to fall asleep. The thought of the mysterious music room and everyone's strange reactions to it whenever it was brought up had her tossing and turning all night. She spent the entirety of the night formulating a plan, trying to decide on the best course of action. If she wanted to find the music room, she would have to do it in secret. The servants were too afraid of their master to help and besides, they might end up turning her over to the prince if they found out her plans to disobey his orders. And if Prince Erik were to find out...she shuddered to think of what he might do to her. By the time the pale, dawn sunlight came filtering through the window, Christine was ready. Though she knew that she was risking losing the friends she had managed to make.

A short while after sunrise, there was a knock at the door. Wondering which friend she was be losing first, Christine stayed buried under the covers and shouted, "Go away!"

From the other side of the door came an agitated sigh. "Are we going back to this, my dear?" It was Antoinette's voice that replied. "I thought we had moved beyond it." Christine didn't reply. "Please, child, just come out. Things will be so much better for you if you just eat with him."

Christine knew what she had to say to get Antoinette to leave, but it would be hard on them both. Though the older woman seemed not to like serving the prince anymore, Christine sensed that she still cared deeply for him. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, then hissed, "I refuse to do anything with that monster."

"If you gave him half a chance, you might find he's not as bad as you think!" Antoinette shouted. It was the first time the servant had raised her voice at Christine. It looked like she had risen to the bait. "The prince is trying to show you kindnesses he has shown no one else. He has given you a room, free run of the castle, food from his table... You should be grateful!"

"Grateful?!" Christine screamed back, feeling awful for how she was responding all the while. "He is holding me prisoner!"

"And you could be locked in a tower cell, freezing and starving like all the others!" Antoinette paused and took a breath. When she next spoke, her voice was softer, though the annoyance was still evident in it. "If you would rather spend your days miserable and alone, be my guest. But if you decide to smarten up and realize you are not as imprisoned as you believe, we'll be in the dining hall." Her footsteps receded down the hall.

Christine felt almost crushed by the guilt of how she had spoken to Antoinette and some of the things she had said, but she knew that she needed to be alone if she was going to go through with this. Now was the best time for her to go in search of the music room; the prince and his servants would be at breakfast and the rest of the castle would be deserted. She counted slowly to fifty, making sure no one else was coming for her. When no one else came to force her to eat with the prince, Christine climbed to her feet and walked to the door. She slowly drew it open and peaked out into the empty hall.

Her heart began to race as she walked down the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of the stairwell and dining hall. The west wing...that was where the music room was. That was where the fire had been. That was where the prince had told her to never go. That was where she was currently headed.

For the first time since her arrival, Christine took some time to look around the hallway as she moved. The torches were lit and crackling brightly in their sconces, making the black stone walls glisten as if they were wet and the floor was covered in a dark purple carpet embroidered with golden thread. Suits of armor holding various weapons stood sentry along the hallway and were spaced evenly between paintings of hunting and battle scenes hanging on the walls. Wooden doors leading into rooms branching off the hallway were set several feet apart. Christine wondered what was behind them, but she didn't go in. There was no time for that now. The ceiling high above her was shrouded in darkness, arching upwards. Christine found herself thinking that the castle had a dark and mysterious beauty. If she hadn't been a prisoner, she might have enjoyed her time here.

Suddenly, the hallway ended. Set in the middle of the wall was a large set of double doors. The doors were burned so black, they looked the same color as the wall they were built into. Her heart skipped a beat as she reached out a tentative hand and pushed one of the doors inward. Beyond the burnt door was another hallway that looked so different from the one she stood in, that, at first, she thought she must have entered a different castle entirely.

The hall was dark; only the torch sconces remained where the light sources had once been. Cobwebs had been strung between the ash-covered holders. Christine shuddered, wondering if their eight-legged occupants were still hiding somewhere within the hall. Melted, deformed suits of armor lined the hallways. Some managed to retain most of their shape, though they were still hidden under thick layers of ash. The rest were almost unrecognizable as to what they had once been. The carpet that had been so nice outside had been burned away, revealing a stone floor. The hallway was pitch black and filthy, and Christine wondered when it had last seen a living human.

Christine stepped away from the doorway and started down the hall, forgetting to close the blackened door behind her. Most of the archways she passed had had doors once upon a time, but they had either been burned away completely or only parts of them remained. A short way down the hall, Christine found a large archway whose door had been entirely burned away. She peaked inside and saw what once must have been a grand ballroom.

It was in similar condition to the hallway, covered in dirt and grime from lack of cleaning and undisturbed ashes from the fire. A large window covered in so much filth absolutely no sunlight filtered in stood off to the left. Piles of ash surrounded and sat on top of tables all over the room. The floor might have once been bright enough for Christine to see her own reflection, but now it was covered in a layer of film and gray soot and there was no sign of a reflection. _This is where it started..._ Christine realized. _The music room can't be too far away now._

Christine slowly backed away from the archway, then headed farther down the hall. She stopped in front of a door several archways down from the ballroom whose top was burned away. It was strange to see that the doors down here had only taken minor damage, almost as if the fire had lost some strength once it had reached this point. Slowly, Christine reached out a hand and pushed it open. The moment she walked in, she knew she had found the right room.

It looked as if the fire hadn't been able to get in as there was no sign of ash; just dust and grime. Torn, yellowed scraps of what might have once been sheet music covered almost every inch of the floor and in the middle of the room stood a large grand piano covered in dust. Despite the covering of grime, the piano looked to still be intact. She slowly approached the piano, going around it to study the keys. They were yellowed quite a bit and covered in dust like the rest of the west wing, but they weren't pressed in to far or uneven. She wondered if the piano still worked. Christine reached out a hand and pressed on the keys. The highly pitched note sounded through the room, echoing off the walls. Christine closed her eyes and listened to it bounce, enjoying the first sound music she had heard since she had arrived. She tried a few more of the keys and, while they sounded out of tune, they still played loudly and clearly.

Slowly, Christine turned to see a painting hanging on the wall. The picture looked out of place; it didn't belong in a room this filthy and ignored as it was well cared for. The canvas and paint strokes had not faded and the golden frame was polished go the point that it was the brightest thing in the room. Christine's eyes were drawn straight to the woman depicted in the portrait. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to race faster and faster. The woman's hair cascaded down her back in soft, brown curls. She had gentle brown eyes filled with life and joy. A small smile brought a light of hope to her face. As Christine stared at the painting, she began to think she was looking in a mirror. This woman looked exactly like her.

 _No,_ Christine thought, _she looks exactly like my mother._

The pictures from her home were brought to mind. The paintings of she and her mother, Emmeline, sitting and playing together. This woman looked just like the woman in those pictures. Christine remembered her father telling her that her mother had died at a party at the palace. She must have been here the same night as the fire. But why would the prince have wanted a portrait of her here, in his private, off-limits room? She reached out and brushed her fingers against the face of the woman in the portrait. Why would he have wanted a portrait of her at all?

"What are you doing in here?" the cold voice came from behind her.

Christine felt her heart stop as the chill in his question washed over her. She slowly turned to face the doorway. Standing under the archway was Prince Erik. He had his hands at his sides, balled into fists so tight, his knuckles were pale. He wore such a murderous look, the visible side of his face and his green eyes filled with hatred and rage, that Christine found it hard to stay standing under the weight of it. With everything she had said and done since she had arrived, she had never seen the prince this furious.

"I...I was just..."

Prince Erik cut her off. "I could have left you in that dungeon to rot, but I gave you room." His voice was dangerously soft. That was almost worse then if he had just exploded at her. "I could have fed you on scraps, but I gave you food from my table. I could have locked you away, but I let you have most free reign of the castle." This sounded familiar. Christine realized it was almost exactly what Antoinette had told her earlier. "I gave you one simple order in exchange for all of this. Stay away from the west wing, and out of my music room." He took a step forward. "Was that really so difficult?!"

His sudden change in volume caused Christine's knees to give out. She sank to the floor as he moved towards her at a fast walk. Christine flinched, terrified he was going to hit her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wished she could look away from his furious, emerald eyes, but they held her fast.

The prince didn't say a word. He just reached down and grabbed her arm tightly, yanking her to her feet. She cried out in pain, but Prince Erik didn't acknowledge it. He pulled her from the room, dragging her forcefully down the halls through the palace. "That room is important to me, and it is off-limits to everyone in the palace. I thought I had made that clear."

Christine felt like her arm was being pulled from its socket, and she knew she would have bruises from how tightly he was holding her. She was audibly crying, but Prince Erik didn't seem to care. "Please!" she cried. "You're hurting me!" It was like she hadn't even spoken. Christine was terrified that he was going to take her back to the tower and lock her in a cell for the rest of her days.

It seemed that he had something different in mind for her. Instead of taking her to the tower, Prince Erik led her to the entry hall where the large portrait of him from another lifetime stared down at them. He wrenched the front door open and shoved her out. She stumbled and fell to the stone ground, barely catching herself. She was shaking so badly she couldn't regain her feet. He glared down at her, the same murderous look in his eyes. "For the love I bore Emmeline, I will spare you. If you ever show your face here again, I will not show you mercy. If you are still here when I return, I will not show you mercy. Leave, and never come back." He turned his back on her and reentered the palace, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Never before had Erik been this angry. He had never felt so betrayed. After every kindness he had shown that girl - that girl who looked so much like his Emmeline - she went against his one order. And she had done it so stupidly. She could have gotten away with it if she hadn't played that stupid piano. The sounds it made echoed clearly through the halls anytime it was played, especially if every door between the music room and the hall outside the west wing was open. That had told him that she had been in that room.

He stood with his head bowed against the door, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. When he finally turned, he saw Antoinette, Meg, Firmin, and André standing behind him. They were all staring at him, their eyes filled with fear. "My prince," Antoinette began gently.

"Don't you all have work to do?" he hissed, cutting her off.

Everyone except Antoinette fled, going to look for something to do so they appeared busy. Throughout their time with him, they had never seen him like this before. He had been angry and somewhat cruel, but never at this level. Erik could almost understand. It had taken great restraint not to hit Christine for her going into the music room. This level of rage was even starting to scare him. He knew that none of them would dare cross him like this. No one but Antoinette, that is. She was _always_ second guessing him, challenging his orders, trying to take control of him. Erik found himself wondering why he hadn't dismissed her yet.

"Did you not hear me?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"My prince, please listen to what I am going to tell you." Antoinette stepped forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. Her calm, gray eyes met his fiery green ones. "I understand the child had been testing you since she arrived, and now she had done something you asked her not to..."

He cut her off again. "I could understand her behavior towards me and not wanting to eat with me, but this...this crosses a line. That room is..."

"Of course; we all know that. But did Christine?"

That brought Erik up short. He had never really explained to Christine why the west wing was off-limits, had he? A big part of it was that music room; since Emmeline's death, that room had become sacred to him, almost a temple. It was where he went to honor the memory of his lost love and where it was safe for him to weep without his staff seeing him. But a smaller part of his order was his concern for safety. The west wing was falling apart. There were loose beams that could fall and hurt someone and he knew that inhaling that much ash could not be healthy. He didn't want his staff getting hurt or ill. And he didn't want Christine running into any danger in there, either.

His silence was all the answer Antoinette needed.

"She has made you angry, and understandably. But her going into that room is your fault as much as it's hers. You cannot just tell someone their not allowed to go somewhere without giving them a reason. Especially someone as inquisitive as her."

Erik wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet, though he knew she was right. He sighed, allowing most of his anger to flow out of him. "The damage is done, Antoinette. There is nothing I am willing to do now."

It was her turn to get angry. "If you won't listen to that, then you best listen to this. You have put Christine's life in great danger." Erik gave her a questioning look. "The bandits in the forest have become more active these last few months, and they are getting braver. Firmin told me that he's had a few run-ins with them on his way to town. He hates going to get supplies now because of the bandits, even if he is armed or with someone else. What chance does a lone woman like Christine have against men willing to attack armed travelers?"

His heart skipped a beat at that. It was true that the men in the forest were starting to gain confidence. Even Erik himself had seen them peeking out from behind the trees, examining the castle for possible entry points. And Christine's father had claimed to have been attacked by them when he had come looking for help... Erik took his hand back and turned to face the doors. A fear he hadn't felt in years suddenly filled his chest. "If they catch her..."

"They'll kill her, if they're feeling kind," Antoinette finished. "More likely, they'll rape her. And then take her to their camp so the rest of their men can have a turn."

Erik couldn't breathe. The thought of something that terrible happening to her... His people may have thought him cruel and heartless, but he wouldn't let anyone do that to a woman, no matter what she had done to him or anyone else. He pulled the door open and called over his shoulder, "Are there still swords kept in the stables?"

"Yes, my prince," Antoinette responded. "I'll have a horse saddled..."

"No! There's no time for that!" Erik raced from the entry hall and towards the stables. He had not felt this afraid for someone else's well-being since the night of the fire. He was not going to let those men hurt Christine. Not while there was still breath in his body.


	9. Eight

**AN:** Well, _hi_ there! It's been forever and a half, hasn't it? So sorry about the long delay but there were...life things... Finishing high school and preparing for college and all that... But, here we are with another chapter! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Eight**

Christine ran Phillip as hard as she could. She kept her head bowed and her face pressed against his mane, letting herself cry as hard as she needed. Her arm was still pulsing where Prince Erik had grabbed her and her shoulder was stinging from having been pulled along so forcefully. She had known that the prince would be angry if he found out what she had been doing, but she could never have imagined it would be that bad. Christine had never been that afraid in her life.

She had no idea how long she had been riding, but when she looked up, she realized that she had no clue where she was. Everything in this forest looked exactly the same to her. Even though it had to be early morning, it was very dark under the canopy of leaves that the trees provided.

She slowed Phillip to a walk, looking around and trying to find anything that looked familiar. If she could just get out of the forest, she would be able to find her way back home. She would get to see her father and Raoul again, at least. A small ray of hope filled her heart as she thought about having her freedom returned to her. She could take care of her father and nurse him back to health. She could accept her position at the Opera Populaire and start singing professionally. She could have Raoul hold her and agree to his marriage proposal... Everything that had seemed impossible a few days earlier when she had become the prince's prisoner had just been handed back to her. All she had to do was get out of the forest.

Somewhere behind her, Christine heard a twig snap. The ray of hope vanished in a flash of fear. She looked around, eyes wide, trying to identify the source of the noise. Maybe it was just an animal; a deer or something. Or maybe it was a wolf. But the more she thought of that, the more unlikely it seemed. She didn't remember ever hearing calls of animals. Even bird cries seemed rare in here. The memory of her father's cart being ravaged returned to her. There were bandits in these woods.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Christine's heart began to race. If she was being tailed by bandits, then she wouldn't stand a chance. She was unarmed and alone and had no idea which way the village was. Maybe if she looked like she knew what she was doing, if she appeared confident, she would scare off any potential threats. That seemed like her best plan of defense. Christine rubbed her eyes and the trace of her tears away, sitting up straighter and holding her head up high. She let Phillip walk a bit faster, but didn't allow him to reach a full gallop; she wanted to look confident, not panicked.

Christine went on uninterrupted for a while longer and started to feel more sure of herself; perhaps her plan had worked and she had managed to scare off whoever was following her, if anyone was actually following her. She began to breathe heavily, a mixture of hope and nerves filling her chest, butterflies making her stomach a mess. Looking ahead, she thought she saw some sort of clearing. _I might be able to make sense of where I am in there,_ she thought to herself. She kicked her heels gently into Phillip's sides, picking up his pace a bit more but still keeping him below a run.

Her heart filled with renewed hope, Christine reached the edge of the clearing. Just as she was about to pass through an opening in the wall of trees, an arrow whizzed past Phillip's muzzle, skimming his soft nose. In pain and fear, drops of scarlet flying into the air, the wounded horse reared and bucked. Christine screamed as the horse kicked and jumped, finally throwing her from his back. She reached out a hand to catch herself and the moment she hit the ground, she rolled and her shoulder popped and moved. Christine screamed again, rolling onto her back and gripping her arm in pain as tears flooded her vision. Phillip's own screams of pain and fear started growing quieter as the horse ran back the way they had come, leaving her alone on the forest floor.

"PHILLIP!" she screamed. "COME BACK!" But she knew it was pointless.

Footfalls from the trees next to her reached her ears. Christine turned her head and looked to see who it was. A filthy man dressed in rags, a bow in his right hand and a quiver of arrows on his back, looked down at her, a cruel smile on his face. "Look at th' poor 'lil lady, all injured," he cackled.

An icy cold hand of fear wrapped around Christine's chest. Her shoulder was throbbing painfully and her tears were clouding her vision. She thought she could see a few other men standing behind the one with the bow, but her blurred sight and the darkness of the forest made it hard to tell. Hoping beyond hope she would be able to appeal to him Christine begged in a whimper, "Please, Monsieur, my shoulder...I think it's broken..."

"An' I think that be the least of yur problems, 'lil lady," the man with the bow said again. Christine's hopes evaporated.

"She sure is a purty one, ain't she, Boss?" a second voice asked. That told her that there was at least one other person there with them, and the owner was a man as well.

"Yeah, it's bin' a while since we had a purty one," came a third voice, just as cruel as the other two.

The man with the bow came closer, kneeling down next to her. "That it has... Looks like it be our lucky day, gents." He reached down and grabbed her hair in his fist. Standing up, he started to drag her towards the base of one of the trees.

Giving into her fear, Christine began to kick and struggle, completely ignoring the pain in her shoulder. "No!" she screamed, reaching up with her good arm to claw at his hand. "Let me go! No, please!" She began to sob desperately, terrified for what was going to happen.

The man let go of her hair and shoved her down in between the large roots of the tree. Before she could try to move away, he sat on her stomach, straddling her. "I get the firs' go, seein' as I won us this nice prize." One of the men started to argue, but the one on top of her cut him off. "Ya'll get yur turns, don' worry." He licked his lips greedily as he pressed his mouth next to her hear. "Don' be 'fraid to scream, 'lil lady. No one here'll care ta' help ya, I promise."

She shuddered at the feeling of his breath on her face, smelling of rot. Christine heard him pull his belt away. As he started to push her dress skirt up, Christine called for the first person that came to mind: "Erik, help me! Please!"

As the bandit on top of her reached down, one of the men began to scream. As suddenly as it had started, it was cut off. The man on top of Christine turned to look behind him. He cursed loudly and got up, gripping Christine by her bad arm - causing her to cry out again - and wrenching her to her feet. The third man that had been with them cried out in surprise, but his was even shorter than the first's scream. By the time the man had turned Christine and himself around, he had drawn a dagger and placed it against her throat. The scene that Christine saw made her cry out with relief.

The two men the leader had brought with him were lying dead on the forest ground, sword wounds through their hearts. Standing between their bodies, sword red with blood, was Prince Erik. Christine had thought he had been furious with her earlier that day when he had caught her in his music room, but that was nothing compared to how furious he looked now.

"Take one more step," the man holding Christine cried in a shaking voice, "an' I'll kill 'er. I swear I will!" Christine felt the dagger dig into her skin and the tickle of blood run from under it down her neck.

Seething, Prince Erik responded, "You have one chance to walk away with your pathetic, miserable life. Let...her...go." His voice was so menacing, it scared even her.

Tears rolled down Christine's face as she felt the dagger bite just a bit further. She stood rigid, too afraid to even speak. There was a tense moment of silence before the bandit shouted in outrage and pushed Christine to the ground. She fell to the floor, her hurt shoulder landing first. Christine screamed in pain as she heard the pounding sounds of the man's footsteps as he ran off into the forest depths.

She heard the prince sheath his sword and soon, he was kneeling beside her, rolling her into his arms. Christine sobbed in pain and relief, burying her face in his chest. He put one hand under her legs and the other around her neck, ensconcing her in his strong arms. Slowly, so as not to hurt her further, he stood back up. He held her gently as he turned and started away. As he walked, Christine could hear him whispering, "It's alright; you're safe now. I'm not going to let them touch you again."

Prince Erik gently put her on the back of a black stallion then climbed up behind her. Christine fell back, resting against his chest as he took the horse's reins. He whispered, "Home, Cesar," and the horse started back at a quick pace. Soon, the rocking of the horse and the warm feeling of being pressed against Prince Erik lulled Christine into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Arriving back at the palace, Erik slid off of Cesar's back and gently brought Christine down, holding her to his chest. Anger at what had happened to her, at what had _almost_ happened to her, filled him as he brought her up to the palace door. He kicked the door open and it slammed into the interior wall with a loud bang. Erik brought her inside, carrying her into the small parlor where Antoinette sat waiting.

"Oh, Lord," the old maid hissed when she saw the unconscious Christine in his arms.

"Get a fire started and bring me blankets, water, and bandages," he ordered without looking at her. Antoinette raced from the room to do as he had asked.

Erik placed Christine down on the arm chair. He looked closely at the cut on her neck, thought it was thankfully no more than a nick. It had already stopped bleeding. Then he turned his attention to her shoulder, the thing he was most worried about. He felt along her slender collar bone, feeling where the joints in her arm had dislocated; it didn't feel broken, but he wanted to get Antoinette's opinion on it before he came to any conclusions and tried to fix it. Erik sighed and bowed his head, trying to calm the rage boiling within him.

Antoinette came running back into the room, Firmin with her. Firmin went straight to the fireplace and started placing logs. Soon a crackling fire was going in the dark fireplace, warming and brightening the room. He left as soon as his task was done. Antoinette came to Erik with a bowl of steaming water, washcloths, and a large pile of blankets. Erik took a blanket from the stack and placed it on Christine's lap. He took a second one and gently moved Christine forward, wrapping it around her shoulders. Before Antoinette could leave, Erik grabbed her arm and asked, "Feel her shoulder; tell me if you think it's broken."

The elderly woman did as he instructed, then shook her head. "Not broken, but dislocated. Do you want help resetting it?"

"We should wait for her to wake up first," Erik replied. "Just to be safe." He brushed a strand of her chocolate brown hair away from her face, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "If I had been just a moment later..." Tears filled his eyes.

"But you _weren't_ ," Antoinette said firmly, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder as she grasped his meaning. "She's safe Erik. Whatever could have happened, didn't. Christine is safe now, my prince."

As Antoinette spoke, Christine murmured and her eyes slowly fluttered open. "Erik...?" her voice was laced with tears and pain. "Oh, God, Erik it hurts..."

His breathing quickened and rage filled hi anew seeing her in so much pain. He buried the anger as best he could and cupped her face with his hand whispering, "I know; Antoinette and I are going to make it better, alright? But it's going to hurt more when we do."

Tears were flowing down her face as she nodded, but whether it was from fear or pain, Erik wasn't sure. Christine turned her face away from him as he gripped her arm. Antoinette placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and, while Erik held the arm out – Christine whimpering in pain – Antoinette pushed. The bone popped and Christine screamed, making Erik flinch. "Is it done?" he whispered listening to Christine's cries. Antoinette felt along the shoulder once again and gave a curt nod.

"Firmin and I will leave you, my prince." She bowed and exited the room, her companion close behind. They closed the door behind them.

Erik let most of Christine's sobs subside, brushing her hair back to help her relax, before helping her work her shoulder into a good resting position. Once it was in a comfortable position, he wrapped it tightly so the bone could heal. Then, he turned his attention to the cut at her neck. He dipped one of the washcloths in the warm water and started dabbing at the nick. Erik worked in silence for a while. After a while of quite, at the same time, the two said, "I just wanted to..."

Their gazes met and Christine blushed. She looked so beautiful when she blushed. So much like his Emmeline... Erik cleared his throat and told her, "Go ahead."

"I just wanted to apologize for going..." she hesitated, unsure of how to continue. After a short moment, she did. "...in there. I know I shouldn't have, it's just...I was curious... I didn't think you would mind so much..."

Erik took the cloth away from the cut and sighed. "I suppose that's my fault. I should have told you the truth about why the room was off limits. Antoinette helped me to see how wrong I was to explode at you like I did. I hope you can forgive me." He placed a bandage on the cut.

"There's no way I _can't_ forgive you," Christine whispered, looking deep into his eyes. "After you saved me from being..." She stopped and shivered, using her good hand to hold the blanket around her shoulders tight. "Thank you, by the way...for saving me."

He couldn't seem to look away from her beautiful, brown eyes. "It was the least I could do after putting you in that situation... Is your shoulder...?"

"It still hurts, but I guess it's not quite as bad as before." She stifled a yawn, making Erik grin.

"Would you like to go lay down? You need rest."

Christine nodded in response. Erik wrapped an arm around her and helped her get slowly to her feet. The blankets pooled at the back of the chair and on the floor; Erik knew one of the servants would take care of them later. She leaned heavily against him, but when he tried to carry her, she waved him away. _She's stronger than I give her credit for,_ Erik thought.

Together, the two walked up the stairs and into the large room he had provided for her. Erik used his free hand to pull back the blankets on her bed and helped lay her down. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he pulled the blankets up to her chin.

"If you need anything, just call. I'll make sure someone is close enough to hear."

He turned to leave, but before he reached the door he heard her say in a soft voice, "Erik?" He turned to face her, and saw that her eyes were wide and fearful, her face pale.

His eyes narrowed slightly with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, crossing back to her.

"Can you...can you stay? At least until I fall asleep? I don't want to be alone."

Erik gave her a warm smile, nodded, and grabbed the chair from the vanity. He pulled it next to the bed and sat down beside her. Erik placed a hand gently on her cheek. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

The look of relief on her face made his heart swell with joy. "Thank you," came the barely audible whisper.

Erik watched her heavenly face until her eyes drifted closed and she fell into a deep sleep.


	10. Nine

**AN:** Surprise! Bet you weren't expecting that! Another chapter so soon! So what if I have English and politics homework to do? What's the point of a three-day weekend if you can't enjoy yourself? Speaking of enjoying yourselves... This is probably a slower chapter in comparison to some of the others, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

 **I own nothing from BATB or POTO.** ~Shella the Dovahkiin

* * *

 **Nine**

She was back in the forest, and the bandit was on top of her, holding her down. He was laughing evilly at her cries and pitiful struggles to escape and his hand pressing against her injured shoulder was sending spears of pain shooting up and down her arm. Christine thrashed wildly, trying to throw the man off of her, but it was no use; she could not stop what he was doing. Crying fiercely, she heard herself screaming for Erik, she heard the man raping her laugh and say, "He can't save you. No one can."

"Erik! Please, Erik! Help me, please!"

Christine was rocking, and then the scene playing before her was gone. The forest disappeared, the bandit and his vile laugh faded, and the only thing remaining was the pain in her shoulder. She was lying on a soft bed, tangled in heavy blankets, in a room she recognized; her room in the prince's palace. Hovering over her was the concerned face of the prince as he shook her awake. When he saw her eyes open, he sighed in relief. "Thank God," he whispered. "You were screaming for me, and I couldn't wake you." The fear of the dream and the relief that that was all it had been was still so fresh, and the pain in her shoulder so poignant, Christine began to sob.

The bed sagged under added weight as Erik lay down next to her, pulling her into his arms and holding her to his chest. Christine rolled onto her good arm and clung to the front of his shirt, crying into him. Erik draped one of his arms around her waist, and the other he ran through her hair. He rested his chin on the top of her head, enfolding her completely and holding her securely, and whispered, "It's alright, Christine; it was just a dream. You're safe now. I promise."

After several moments, Christine's sobs dissolved into sniffling. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" she whispered into Erik's chest.

Erik moved away from her so he could look at her face. "You have nothing to apologize for, my dear. You've been through something terrible; don't be ashamed for being afraid." He brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. "Do you…want me to stay here…like this?"

Christine shook her head. "I think…I think I'm okay now…"

He took his arms from around her and pushed off the bed, going back to the chair next to her. "I'll stay in the room, though. Just in case." Erik watched her as she rolled carefully onto her back so her bad shoulder was resting against the mattress.

She tried closing her eyes, but the face of the bandit kept swimming up into her vision, making her heart race. Christine could hear Erik shift in the chair next to her, instantly calming her pulsing heart. _It's interesting, how he terrified me so only a few hours ago,_ she thought. _Now…I don't think I can sleep without by me. How fast things can change._

"Erik?" Christine whispered, opening her eyes to look into the darkness.

"What is it?"

"Do you…do you sing?"

There was a quiet that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Finally, Erik heaved a sigh and responded, "I did, once. Before…before the fire… Before my parents and Emmeline…" he stopped, his voice choking with emotion. "But not anymore… Why do you ask?"

"I was just…wondering…maybe if you would…sing to me…" Christine questioned awkwardly. Rushing to fill the silence she knew was coming she said, "My father used to sing to me whenever I woke with nightmares. He wasn't very good, but…it helped." When Erik still didn't respond, Christine mumbled, "It's fine if you don't want to…"

After a bit, Erik spoke. "You look just like your mother; you know that, don't you?" Christine did know that. It was something her father had been fond of saying it after Emmeline had left him. "When I first saw you, I thought it was her returned from the dead." He sighed once again. "When Emmeline died, so did my love for music. Forgive me, but I do not feel comfortable singing now."

"I understand," Christine responded sadly.

"Just try and rest, Christine. You need to sleep."

She closed her eyes once again, seeing the face of the bandit again. Her lower lip quivered and a tear fell down her cheek; she felt Erik's thumb brush it away. "You are _safe_ , Christine. I promise. You will never need to go into that forest again." He stroked her face with the back of his hand. In a barely audible whisper he said, "Maybe I can't sing, but perhaps this will help..."

Suddenly, he started to hum a hauntingly beautiful tune. It filled Christine's mind with colors and chased away the visions of the bandits. The next thing she knew, she was drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Erik didn't know he had fallen asleep until he found himself being awoken by Christine crying out. His eyes shot open and a moved to stand over her. She was sitting upright, clutching her shoulder, tears in her eyes. Erik's heart broke seeing her in pain again, and his eyes narrowed with sorrow. He placed a hand on her good shoulder and gently pushed her back onto her pillows. Christine turned to look at him with her bright brown eyes and his heart melted. Every time she looked at him…he saw his Emmeline. "Stay down, Christine," he told her kindly. "You need more rest."

Christine blinked the tears out of her eyes, but the pain in them didn't leave. Erik wished there was something he could do to ease her suffering, but all they could do now was wait for the bone to finish healing itself. If he tried anything, he could make it worse and cause her even more pain. "Did you sleep at all last night, Erik?" she asked with a small smile.

He returned her smile and nodded. "I managed a few hours. Did you get to sleep the rest of the night through?" She nodded in response. "Good; I'm glad."

Erik stood and stretched his tense back muscles. He went to the window beside her bed and pulled the curtains back to check the time. He was surprised to see that he was letting in early morning sunlight. How long had they been asleep? It didn't feel like it had been that long, but it appeared that at least twenty-four full hours had passed. He found himself looking at the dark forest, though even it looked nicer in the light of day. But the memory of what had happened in there the night before made Erik's stomach roil with renewed rage. He turned back to Christine, who was looking out the window and at the trees bordering the palace, her face pale.

"It's over, Christine," he told her reassuringly. "I know you are still scared, but I swear to you that what happened last night will never happen again." Erik knew that he had told her this many times before and that he would have to keep saying it until she felt truly safe again. There was nothing he could do to ease those pains, either. She would have to work through what had happened on her own until she found her own peace.

She turned her face to look at him, her gaze filled with trust. "I believe you… Do you think I could get up? I can't stand laying down any longer and I'm getting hungry."

"If you think you are ready." Erik crossed to her and pulled back the blankets. He held a hand out to her and helped her slowly get to her feet. She wobbled a bit, Erik putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist to help her steady herself.

"I'm alright," she nodded, blinking away what appeared to be a dizzy spell. "I'm alright."

Erik wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against him and being her support so she wouldn't fall. He led her from the room and down the stairwell to the dining hall where the long table had already been set for breakfast. Antoinette, Meg, André, and Firmin stood in their respective places, bowing their heads as the pair entered. Erik led her to the chair closest to his, pulled it out, and let her sit down.

He sat next to her and Antoinette came forward to help get food for Christine. "We are all so relieved that you're alright," she told Christine with a motherly smile.

Once Christine's plate was loaded with all she had asked for, Antoinette turned to Erik for instruction. "You can leave for now," he dismissed the servants. They all filed out of the room, leaving the two to have breakfast together. "I suppose we should discuss a few things."

"What kind of things?" Christine asked.

"Our relationship." When Christine choked on the egg she had just taken a bite of, Erik quickly went on, "Not _that_ kind of relationship, of course. I would never insinuate…"

She blushed fiercely as she stammered, "Of course you wouldn't… You did save my life, but we haven't exactly been friendly with one another…"

"And I was a bit cold when you first arrived…and when you found the music room…" Erik continued. "I may have been a bit…"

"Cruel," the two said together, their gaze meeting for a moment. They looked down awkwardly, both blushing bright red.

Christine cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should…start again?" she offered. "I wasn't very kind to you, either. I could have given you a better chance."

"But given the circumstances, the way you treated me was warranted," Erik mumbled into his bacon.

"Perhaps…" There was another short pause. "Would you like to do that? To start again?"

Erik smiled up at Christine. "I think I would like that very much."

"Well then." Christine stood up and gave a small curtsy. "Hello, my prince. My name is Christine Daaé."

Standing with a little half-smile, Erik crossed to her and took her good hand in his right. He bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand whispering, "Enchanté, Mademoiselle Daaé. And please, call me Erik."

"As you wish, Erik. As long as you agree to call me Christine."

When he looked up, he saw Christine smiling brighter than he had ever seen. That smile being directed at him...it made his heart race. He realized that he was seeing Emmeline again, and gave himself an internal shake. If they were truly starting again, he would need to see her as herself, as Christine. He had to stop seeing her as the mere shadow of the woman he had lost. "You should smile more, Christine; it suits you." His heart leapt as he watched her smile widen. They both retook their seats and Erik asked, "Tell me about yourself, my dear."

"Well, there's not much to tell. I was born and raised in the small hut at the edge of the village by my father, Gustave. My mother left a few years after I was born; she divorced my father... But it was a very clean break. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, and he knew she would have been happy elsewhere, so he let her go. She died a few years later; Father told me it was in a fire, but he spared me the details…" She paused to think. "I had a childhood friend, Raoul de Chagny. His father practically runs the town and his family is very rich... Raoul means the world to me. I think he was planning on asking me to marry him before I came here. He is such a handsome young man," she snickered.

"Would you have said yes if he had asked for your hand?" Erik asked tentatively.

"I may have…" Christine stopped, a sad expression crossing her features. "Maybe you could tell me about yourself, Erik…but only as much as you're willing," she changed the subject.

Erik looked down at his food. "I'll spare you most of the sob story. I had a birthday party where I chose the woman who would be my future queen. She and both of my parents died in the fire that happened that night, and I would've died as well if not for Antoinette. She pulled me from the room before anything to terrible happened." He reached up and touched his white, half-mask. "I did get this as a token to remember that night by. A scar that will never heal…at least, the visible scar.

"When Emmeline died, I lost all of my love for anything; music, light, laughter, happiness…anything. I no longer cared. The only thing I wanted was for her to come back to me and I became less than half of the man I once was… If I'm completely honest, I think I blame myself more than anything for her death. If I hadn't sent her to the servants' stairwell…she may have lived."

He didn't even realize he was crying until Christine came to him, knelt down beside him, and brushed the tears away. She was looking at him with so much pity. And there was something else there, too. Something Erik hadn't seen in a very, very long time. "Forgive, my lady," he sniffled, rubbing the unshed tears from his eyes. "I did not mean…"

"There is nothing to forgive, Erik. I can understand how hard it was for you to lose her. My father was hit very hard by her death, as well. I was…too young to truly understand what it meant and I never really knew her. I at least know this: wherever she is, she is safe and she is happy. And one day, we will all see her again."

Erik looked at Christine on her knees next to him. "What did I do to deserve your kindness? I've been nothing but cruel to you. I imprisoned your father and then you…I hurt you…sent you out into that forest…"

Christine put a finger to his lips, stopping him. "Those men in that forest may not have been planning on killing me, but nevertheless, you saved my life. What they had in mind for me…" She shuddered. "I could have spent the rest of my life a slave to their…urges. No matter what happened between us in the past, I can forgive it for the future you saved me from."

Looking up at Christine, he realized how much he didn't deserve her generosity or her forgiveness. He had done terrible things to her and her family, yet here she was, drying his tears and accepting his apologies for what he had done. In that moment, looking into her brown eyes, he saw who she truly was for the first time since she had arrived. She had a soul unlike any other person Erik had ever known.

"I will be better to you, Christine," he swore. "I will make this palace more of a home than any you've ever known."

Christine smiled across at him. "I know you will," she whispered.


End file.
